I'll Be Your Wings
by Your Beating Heart
Summary: "It's an idealistic dream." Eren turns his head, gazing at the hunter's half-bared face. "But something tells me...you're different. If it's flying that you want, I can lend you my wings." The world's greatest dragon hunter and a dragon shifter become unlikely partners fighting to defend the kingdom from merciless beasts wreaking rage and flame. Eren/Levi, Ymir/Historia Fantasy AU
1. I Can Lend You My Wings

I've never written anything fantasy before. Way out of my comfort zone. I was actually inspired by someone else's fanfic to write something fantasy-ish. I favorited it, sooooo if you're interested in which story it was, it's on my profile.

* * *

_Prologue_

Erwin fans out a crinkly, brown scroll across the tavern booth, deliberately sliding the side of his hand over the wrinkles, smoothing the parchment. "The king's men have documented the appearance and capabilities of each beast," he informs the squadron rounded about the booth.

Noisy voices fill the tavern, a full lot of them. Mugs of frothy, heady ale knock jubilantly on uneven, wood tabletops, paired with drunken laughter. But the dragon hunters don't join this celebratory merrymaking. They are here for one purpose alone: dragon slaying.

"Lemme see!" exclaims Hanji, their specialist on all things involving the Otherworld, or the realm outside humankind.

Erwin allows Hanji a front-and-center view of the roughly sketched portrayal of the dragon they will be taking down. This one is larger than any vile beast Levi has set eyes on. From head to tail it looks to be more than forty meters, its scales a dark, bloody crimson, appearing as if its skin is fully transparent, or perhaps absent altogether.

"Ah. These are hotplate scales," Hanji tells them. She drags her finger with scalpel-like delicacy over the illustration, at awe by the beast. "Each individual scale is able to produce its own heat fiercer than a blast furnace." She throws Levi a broad grin. "Be careful, Levi. Don't burn yourself."

Angled away, Levi sits, with an arm hung lazily over the back of his chair, gaze averted. At Hanji's teasing poke, he flicks his eyes to her and silently presents his hand gloved in dragon skin. The gesture speaks for itself. No matter how hot a surface is the temperature won't permeate anything of his dragon pelt gear.

Her broad grin widens, almost seeming too wide for the expanse of her face. "Of course, of course!" she exclaims, matching the jubilee of the intoxicated crowd. She then reverts to her serious-at-business tone. "Because of its colossal size, its movements are slow," she reflexively fixes her glasses on the bridge of her nose, "but it can crumble an entire castle with a lone stroke of its tail and stir up a deadly whirlwind in a single beat of its wings."

"Got it," mutters Levi. "Next."

Erwin flattens out the next scroll. "This is the armored dragon. Its scales are impervious to any weapon mankind knows. However, it has two vulnerabilities: the eyes and the backs of its legs."

"And its wings," Levi adds. A dragon is nothing if it is unable to fly. The web of a dragon's wing is finer, easier to damage. Make a little split and add the force of a tearing wind, a mortal downward spiral is made. The rest is history.

"Right." Laying out the third scroll, Erwin remarks, "The last dragon is the female. She has skin able to freeze in ice at her will. Thus, she will be less susceptible to our weapons. She is our first objective. About three weeks ago, she appeared unannounced, demolishing villages, killing many. That is our reason for being here. It is our duty to protect this kingdom." Erwin's steel eyes set on the faces of the squadron, checking for any faults in their resolve. "Can you do that?"

The hunters—Eld, Petra, Oluo, and Gunther—nod, confident. "Yes, sir!"

A smile twitches the corners of Erwin's mouth. "Very well. I'm counting on you." Then he rolls the dragon scroll in his hands, tucking it beneath his arm.

But Erwin has forgotten one. Levi offhandedly waves to the tightly furled parchment at Erwin's left hand that is untouched. "You have four scrolls," he points out.

Erwin eyeballs the scroll, making no move to unfold it. "Indeed. There is a fourth beast." His voice is guarded as if he doesn't want the rest of the tavern listening in. "But it hasn't yet attacked the kingdom. It remains hidden. There have been very few sightings. In fact, its existence is mere speculation." Erwin seems troubled by this. Levi, too, is a bit troubled. Not knowing whom your enemy is, or what his intentions are is unsettling. "It is rumored to be a smaller dragon of sea foam green scales. Its abilities remain unidentified, of course. There is little for us to go off of. The scroll is more-or-less blank."

"Speculation, huh?" There is no such thing. "Sounds to me, that's the one we should be most wary of." Levi leans back in his seat. "Its smart, laying low to strike when we're unprepared."

"Perhaps," Erwin agrees. "But for now, we will engage the one causing the most destruction—the female beast."

* * *

Eren is settled in the sugar-like sand of the shoreline, gazing out and over an ever-length of deep blue sea. Flashes of sunlight flicker on the breaking waves, and cool seawater reaches to touch his bare toes, retreating only to brush his toes again. One of his knees is bent, an arm casually draped over his shin, and the other lays laxly sprawled. His reed trousers are rolled, his naked back soaking up the sun's warmth. It is days like these that Eren enjoys the most.

"You really love the ocean, don't you, Eren?"

He turns over his shoulder. Approaching is Mikasa. She perches in the sand beside him and offers a loaf of creamy pastry. "I brought you a sweet roll."

He accepts. "Thanks." A draft of sea wind tousles his thick, disorderly, brown hair as he observes the sun's descent. It falls behind the ocean, immersing the sky in red and orange. But the sunset's breathtaking beauty fails to draw Mikasa's attention. Instead, she marvels the way the warmth glows on Eren's smooth skin, reflecting on sand crystals stippling the planes and curves of his bare back. Not even a fiery sky can match Eren's fire.

"What's not to love about the ocean?" Eren's eyes are distant. "It has no boundaries."

"How far have you gone?"

Eren shrugs his shoulders, lightly tanned from shirtless days spent on the beach. "I stay close. I won't leave you and Armin behind. One day, though, we'll build a raft and see what's out there."

Armin had gotten his hands on books from the kingdom's archives and excitedly shared with Eren hand-stroked pictures of different places around the world—places that Eren never imagined existed—places Mikasa wasn't sure really did exist. _"Let's see them all,"_ Eren had said to Armin.

And Armin readily nodded in accord. _"We'll sail the seas."_

Mikasa hadn't told either one of them how unlikely that was. A while longer, she lets Eren daydream about a better place and a better life, then drops the unpromising news that she has carried with her. "The king has brought a squadron of dragon hunters to the kingdom," she tells him, and Eren knows what she is going to request of him before she says it. "Promise me you won't shift while they're here."

"Tch." Eren wraps his fingers around a jagged shell haphazardly holed in the sand by his knee and chucks it at the water out of frustration. "I can't promise that."

"Eren." She sternly locks eyes with him. "With them is the legendary dragon slayer, Captain Levi. Singlehandedly, he has nearly brought the extinction of the entire dragon species. He will _slaughter_ you if he sees you in your alternate form."

"The kind of beast that he kills isn't my kind." Dragon hunters kill the dragon born monsters that feast upon humans. Not shifters like he and the other three hiding out someplace in the mountains. They were born human, gifted, or perhaps cursed with the ability to shift. A shifter wouldn't consume a human being. Nor would shifters be so stupid to expose their presence like a dragon born. Although, the other three might be less bright than Eren originally thought. Because of their recent destructive activities, hunters now stalk the kingdom.

"That's a fine point he's likely to overlook."

Eren exhales. "I'll stay low." He takes a chunk of sweet roll, sugary paste submerging his taste buds. But he isn't consoled. The pastry is tasteless as he swallows. "But you know…" he stares at his own upturned hand as if it is foreign to him, "repressing my other half is unnatural. Fire wells up inside me. It burns in my stomach, then ripples through my entire being." He curls his fingers into a loose fist. "If I don't shift, I'll burn stronger and stronger until it's agonizing, and I can't bear it anymore. If I don't die by this dragon slayer's hand, then I'll die by my own. I can't not shift. It's part of who I am—of _what_ I am."

"Let's hope they don't stay long."

"What about Armin?" Eren wolfs the rest of the sweet roll. "He isn't safe while hunters are on the lookout, either."

"Elves aren't hunted the way dragons are. They're captured."

A shudder works down Eren's spine. "That's worse."

The fate of a beast is death, quick and simple. Elves have a thornier fate—enslavement. That is why most elves have fled deep to the heart of the forest. Possessing an elf is a token of fortune. Unlike dragons killed on sight, elves are sought after and captured for social and status means. They are lusted for because their beauty is unparalleled. But any bastard who dares lay a finger on Armin will face the unforgiving wrath of a fire-breathing dragon. Eren will make sure of that.

Armin wears his hair long to hide his defining ear shape. Although, in Eren's opinion, his ethereal looks are hardly human. His skin is fine alabaster, blooming easily at laborious activity or embarrassment, and his hair is golden as a drop of sun's light, eyes bluer than that of any sea. It is a wonder no one has guessed his elven heritage.

"Maybe you should mask his elven appeal with a charm," suggests Eren.

Mikasa pulls her knees to her chest. "I could try." She is a mystic, or a person gifted the ability to use Otherworld power. Her abilities have yet to be fully realized, and extent of them is uncertain. She is the only mystic Eren knows of with no one to guide her. All that she is capable of was learnt through trial-and-error self-teaching. But she grows stronger with each passing day. Eren can sense her power buzzing around her like a field of voltage.

"Have you found the other shifters?" she asks him.

"Not yet." Eren has searched each nook and every cranny in the mountains for those three, but he found no sign of them. He doesn't know why these shifters have appeared, or where they come from, but he wants them gone. They are wreaking havoc on his home. He won't stand for any more destruction.

Mikasa knows exactly what Eren is thinking. "Don't fight them. There are three of them and only one of you."

Fire simmers in Eren's gut. He wants to angrily unleash it to the sky but represses it, letting it blister the walls of his stomach. "I won't let my home be destroyed."

"Let the hunters do their job."

"They've never fought shifters before. They're likely to fail." Eren clenches his hands, tight. "And when they do, it's my turn to fight."

* * *

There are five hunters, one standing out against the rest. Cloaked in all black, hooded and mysterious, with little armor, is the legend they have all heard of. Levi can be identified by the dragon's eye, an emerald stone glowing softly, embedded in the hilt of his sword sheathed at his hip. Nobody else has obtained such a token in all time mankind has known. It is a symbol of his bravery and strength, his drive and promise to eradicate dragon-kind.

The hunters ride tall horses sturdy with muscle, at the border of the reed fields. The clouds have condensed, gray and impenetrable, sign that the beast approaches. Levi feels foreboding bumps fleck his forearms; a chill of nature's whispered warning. He looks to the heavens. Wings spread far gracefully sweeping the sky, the female beast cuts below the blanket of brooding mist, awaiting her arrival.

With scales of artic cyan and jagged spines that steeple at her backbone, she is of average size. Levi has seen dragons of far larger proportions, but she is by no means less impressive. Orange flashes at her bite—liquid flame regurgitated to abolish the village below. She unleashes a downpour of rage and the village goes up in flame. Screams and smoke of anguish billow to the clouds.

"That's our cue," commands Erwin, with a gleaming armor piece resembling dragon talons set on his broad shoulder. "Let's go."

In a thunder of clopping hooves, they take off, splitting down the middle. Each half claiming a side of the dragon's shadow, they race below her. This dragon, Levi realizes, flies abnormally low. She turns her head side-to-side, searching the land. _A dragon on a quest? _Levi tosses the thought. Dragons don't have a goal. They destroy. They kill. They consume human beings. Simple as that. This one is no different.

Point up, Erwin raises a musket pistol and shoots a red flare. Startled, the female veers left. Eld reflects Erwin's action, releasing a flare at the dragon's other side. Now angered, the female growls. Flying even lower, dangerously so for a dragon, she opens her snout, a ball of fire building in the back of her throat. Eld, Gunther, and Petra instantly cut short, evading the attack. But Levi ducks directly beneath her belly.

"She flies strange!" Hanji shouts over the howling wind, her thick ponytail whipping behind her head. "Almost like she has a specific intention in mind!"

Levi grips his hookshot. Intention or not, Levi is going to bring her to a more convenient level—ground level. She flies low enough for him to shoot the hook over her back, snagging on the dorsal spines down her midline. Out of her peripheral, she spots Levi and takes the ascent. Then, clutching tightly to the chain, Levi lets her pull him into the air.

"_Captain!_" he hears Petra shriek, struck with horror.

"What!" Hanji cries. "He's _riding_ a _dragon!_" Then shock becomes enthusiastic, at-the-top-of-her-lungs screeches as Levi sails off to the clouds. "_YOU BETTER LIVE AND TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT! YOU HEAR ME?!"_

Her loud, shrill shouts grow less loud and less shrill as the distance between them quickly increases. Levi hikes the dragon's side as she soars higher. The violent winds lash his ears, fluttering his hair and cloak. This is a groundbreaking moment. No man has attempted to board the back of a fire-breathing dragon before. No man has even thought about riding a dragon before. Why would anyone want to? It is suicide.

But Levi didn't have time to hesitate. He saw the opening and went for it. On her back, he grips her spines, carefully stepping to her neck, tiptoe first, then feather-light heel. She flies steady, unaware that she has a passenger. He is slow progressing to her head. His balance fluctuates in directions that the sky only knows. Once he is at her skull and passes between the two straight horns that project above her ears, he twirls another hook round and round, accumulating trajectory. He tosses it. The hook rings her snout, and with a strong jerk, Levi muzzles her shut. Now that she is unable to breathe fire, he firmly plants his boot between her eyes.

"Do you enjoy burning villages?" he demands. "Is that what you like?" He arches over the hood of her eye to stare straight in her icy gaze. "Are you going to answer me?" As expected, she doesn't. Only does she vacantly meet his stare. "I'll like ripping off your scales one-by-one," he tells her, voice low, controlled but somehow feral at the same time. "I could use a new pair of gloves." Her slit iris shrinks small as if she understood what he said. Then she nosedives, and Levi stumbles at the abrupt drop.

She plunges directly for the ocean, but before she can drive into the water, her wings extend like sails. The sea breeze catches her, but jostles Levi. He is thrown and finishes the fall. Then, in a splash of whitecaps, the sea swallows him.

Eren is weightlessly gliding in the depths of the ocean, out of sight, like he normally does when he feels the need to shift. His scales, a gradient of rich green to sea-blue foam, blend seamlessly with the ocean. He is well hidden. Beams of straggling sunlight range below the surface, not quite reaching where he rests at the sandy bottom. There is a shadow of movement disturbing the forest of sunrays, then a small splash. Eren looks skyward. Beneath the ever-shifting glare of light reflected off the surf, a dark figure drops faster than stone. A man, Eren realizes. In a powerful beat of his wings, he beelines toward the sinking man.

First, Eren takes note of the man's clothing. It is made of charcoal dragon skin. Then he sees the glowing emerald stone in the hilt of his sword—a dragon's eye. There is only one possibility of who this man could be.

_The dragon slayer._

Eren hesitates. _"He will slaughter you, if he sees you,"_ Mikasa had told him. This man, with the strength to annihilate Eren, is at Eren's mercy. He falls farther, faster, breath escaping to the surface in a trail of bubbles. His lungs will empty and water will soon fill them. He will die, then there will be one less problem for Eren to fret over. Eren will be able to fly openly in the sky. He will be free…

Eren will be free at the cost of this man's life. The trail of breath staggers as his lungs collapse. Circling the plunging hunter, Eren uses his nose to carefully lift him to the surface. Levi is unconscious as Eren pilots him to the shoreline. Once they are in the shallows, Eren shifts to his human form. Eren doesn't know how it works. It is similar to moving an arm or a leg. He doesn't think about it, his body just carries out the job. That is shifting.

Looping his arms beneath the hunter's arms, Eren hauls him to dry land. He is heavy, weighed down by his sword and crossbow and sodden clothing. Eren sets the hunter in the sun's warmth and squats at his side. The hunter's chest rises and falls rhythmically; his eyes remain shut.

Careful not to wake him, Eren gingerly unbuckles his gear and sets it aside. Then he removes his drenched cloak, laying it out to dry in the heat. Even the hunter's under clothing is crafted of tightly fitted dragon scales. Is everything this guy wears seamed of dragon pelts?

Eren seats himself next to the one man that he should fear. The hunter's dragon gear is testimony. Strangely, he isn't at all afraid. Even though this hunter's clothing could one day be made of Eren's own skin, he doesn't fear this man. Maybe it is because the hunter is in his most vulnerable state. Eren watches him sleep deeply. His face is turned to the side, cheek rested in compacted beach, and his dripping, dark hair tumbles over his face. He has petite features—a small nose, a thin, frowning mouth, and a sharp jaw.

"You know," murmurs Eren, "you don't look how I imagined you. You're much smaller than I thought you'd be." He winds his arms around his curled legs, resting his chin on his knobby kneecaps, absently staring off at the ocean spray. "It's kind of funny, really, that someone so small is able to take down monsters twenty times his size like it's nothing." Then he hastily adds, as if the hunter has heard his words, "Not that I'm trying to insult you or anything…"

But the hunter isn't insulted. He is peacefully unaware. "In the kingdom's archives, there are books written about you. I've read a couple, and you're everything they said you'd be—fearless and strong, practically inhuman. What kind of man tries to ride a dragon?" Eren chuckles in wonder. He hadn't seen it, but he can imagine this hunter bounding headlong onto a dragon's back. "It was brave, borderline crazy. Don't you have any respect for your own life?" Eren looks at the hunter as if waiting for an answer.

"Maybe you have a death wish." The dragon hunter sleeps on, and Eren ponders longer. "Or maybe you want to fly," he says, which seems more likely. "I don't blame you. Flying is the best feeling in the world." Eren lolls his head to the side, kneecap to cheek, watching the sleeping dragon hunter. "I guess we're supposed to be enemies, right?"

The thought of that natural order makes Eren grimace. Born enemies destined to fight one another until one destroys the other. Eren doesn't want to kill this man, and he doesn't want this man to kill him, either. He heaves a sigh, and sand pillows him as he flops onto his back. He folds his arms behind his head. "If a dragon hunter can accept me for what I am, then the world might accept me too. I don't want to hide anymore. I don't want to be hated anymore. I want to live free like you."

The ocean has no boundaries or limitations. Anything is possible out there. That is why Eren spends most of his days near the shore. It is easy to believe that there is a way out. Is freedom somewhere out there, and all he has to do is sail away to find it?

"It's an idealistic dream," he murmurs, "probably an impossible one!" Then he turns his head and gazes at the hunter's half-bared face. "But something tells me…you're different. So if it's flying that you want, I can lend you my wings." Digging an elbow in the beach, Eren lifts himself to reach over and gently shake the hunter's hard shoulder. "Wake up, dragon hunter. This kingdom needs you."

* * *

Slowly, Levi's eyes break open. His throat is dry cotton, his nasal cavity aflame, and his head is iron-heavy. He can hardly keep it up on his shoulders as he hauls himself to a seated position. Sand sticks to the side of his face, and salt tenaciously clings to the rest of him. He can smell the filth reeking from his skin and gear. _Disgusting… _He is in need of a vigorous scrub down.

That dragon…there was something bizarre about her. She wasn't like any other beast Levi has faced. Next time, he will be more prepared. He reaches for his cloak and hesitates. It is neatly folded, his sword and crossbow placed atop. Fully alert, Levi keenly surveys the shore. Empty white mounds of loose sand meet his searching gaze. Not even faded footsteps linger. Whoever had been here is long gone. But if he intended to cause harm to Levi, he would have.

Without sparing another thought on the vanished stranger, Levi reattaches his sword to his hip and slings his crossbow over his shoulder. Then, in a handful, he scrunches his damp cloak and treks back to the kingdom.


	2. Tell Me, Are You A Monster?

Thank you for reading! I was surprised people liked this story. I only hope I can hold your interest now.

* * *

Back in the tavern, the dragon hunters had started afresh. "Tell me what it was like again!" Hanji had demanded of Levi for the third time.

And for the third time, Levi repeated, "I almost died."

"Yeah, but what did it _feel_ like?" Her face was stretched too close to his as she intensely zeroed-in on him, but Levi evenly met her stare, unfazed. Once upon a time that invasive stare would make him feel exposed. Now he was used to it. He didn't even flinch. "Was it hot? Did it get your blood pumping? How did your body fit to hers? Was it a right fit? An awkward one? Perhaps it was a bit rough. Or maybe you were too small to satisfy her."

_What a poor choice in words… _Convinced that she was an idiot, Levi took a sip from his teacup, without offering a reply.

But his silence only provoked another question. "But more importantly, what did you say to her before she tossed you off?"

This time he answered. "I told her I could use new gloves." An old man in the tavern shot Levi a bewildered look. And Levi ignored it. Whatever twisted conclusions Grandpa had drawn from this conversation, Levi didn't want to know.

"Do you realize what this means?!" Hanji excitedly asked them. She slapped her hands flat on the table and sprang to her feet. The legs of her chair scraped the filthy, wooden floorboards loudly, and her eyes eagerly darted from Levi to Erwin, to the squadron, generating suspense.

"She understood what Levi said to her!" she finally exclaimed when the suspense had become too much for her. "This dragon has intelligence!" Clattering tinny, pewter mugs and tableware, she pumped her fist to the tabletop in victory. "I knew it!" she cried proudly. "I could tell by the way she flew. It was like she was looking for something or someone. She has a motive… This is groundbreaking! This is incredible! This is—"

"She must be stopped," cut in Erwin, stern.

Deflated by Erwin's serious and commanding tone, Hanji adjusted her glasses and found her seat. "Right."

"Her movements are like nothing we have encountered before," Erwin went on, twining his fingers under his chin. "That is why I have come up with a new strategy." He fixed his hard, blue eyes on Levi. "And you are at the core of this tactic. I need for you to ride her again."

This new tactic required Levi to wait at the top of the highest watchtower for the squadron to drive the female beast toward him. Levi would start aloft and jump onto her back, rather than climbing from the ground up, as he had before. Levi didn't object this strategy. In truth, he was looking forward to it. Petra was not as approving. She put up the argument that it was incredibly dangerous—Levi's life would be on the line. But Levi reminded her that she, too, would have her life on the line.

Now, he is at the very top of a watchtower that borders a village just inside the outer ring of the kingdom. To keep from slipping down the sloping rooftop, he has the extending flagpole stretching for the clouds in a steel clutch as he observes the wakening world unfold in the distance. Patiently, he waits.

Dawn arises. Daybreaking sun climbs behind the white-capped mountaintops, beaming rays sliced down the middle by tall peaks. Cool, crisp morning breath runs through Levi's hair and gently ripples the hood of his cloak about his face. From this height, he can see the rolling reed fields quiver in the gale. Then, past that, there is the devastated village, char and ash swirling like snow in the crumbled streets. He grasps the hilt of his sword tightly. Today will be different. Today, he will bring down that beast.

He is weighed down a bit by his second sword. It is the twin of his other and keeper of the second dragon eye Levi acquired. With both eyes, both swords, Levi cannot fail. Dragon eyes are a power source. They are enchanted; therefore, anything can happen, even something absurd like a legendary hunter hitching a ride from a fire-breathing dragon.

_There._ Levi bends his knees, ready. The female soars his way, the tips of her wings cutting dew clouds, with Erwin and the others hunting her silhouette. She unleashes a fireball, but the squadron is quick-thinking and skirts to safety.

The countdown begins. _One…_

The female sweeps her wings, stirring up wind, and the reed fields bend to the invisible squall. In a burst of speed, she launches ahead.

_Two…_

Levi lets go of the flag post and rides gravity down the slant, to the end of the tiered rooftop. Lowering to a crouch, he looms at the very lip like a shadow.

_Three._

She is directly below him, and he drops. Silent as a thief, he claims the middle of her head. He lands in a crouch, then rises, slipping his hands beneath his cloak crosswise. Before she can throw him off, he draws both swords, twirling them deftly in his hands, and thrusts them deep into the sockets of her eyes. He twists, and she belts out an earsplitting scream.

"So loud…" Leaving his swords jammed in her eyeballs like flags of conquest, he then takes the sole hook that he had packed away and nooses her snout, shutting her up. Now comes the real challenge—getting this dragon to submit to his control. She is blind, muzzled, and Levi has her leashed. If she refuses his command, she will either drive herself into the ground and the hunters will kill her, or she will crash into something else and the hunters kill her.

"Hanji thinks you can understand me," Levi dully remarks. "I'm not convinced. So prove me wrong and obey me." He yanks on the chain, pulling left, and she swerves with his command. "Not bad. Maybe I'll—"

There is an ominous passing of dark movement on the ground below. Levi looks up. The other two dragons, the armored and the colossal, have appeared, circling above like vultures. That scream she unleashed earlier— "You called them, didn't you?" growls Levi, irritated. He roughly wrings his swords from her eyes. Dragons regenerate, but hopefully Levi will be long gone by the time her eyes are usable.

Erwin had not been anticipating the presence of two more dragons. They are not prepared for war, especially not with this new tactic. It is a shaky one. And Levi is one man hundreds of meters in the sky amongst three enraged beasts.

This is bad.

The armored dragon, scales stacked and stacked like mounds of rock, swoops at Levi, and Levi dodges to the space between the female's wings. The armored dragon ignores him. It drags its paw over the female's snout, breaking off the chain gagging her. Now the female is free to buck Levi off.

This is really bad.

A sound like thunder splits the atmosphere. Parting somber, dooming clouds, the fourth dragon, the one that had remained so well hidden it was practically myth, makes its official entrance, with an impressive reverberating roar. And Levi knows that he shouldn't be surprised, it makes sense for the fourth dragon to appear now, but he is.

This is worse.

The fourth dragon lunges at Levi, extending its talons. And Levi narrows his eyes, his swords at the ready. But it whizzes right past, blowing flurry, and tackles the armored dragon. Number Four viciously snarls, snapping its jaws at the armored dragon's neck with such personal ferocity and passion, it seems the armored dragon has done an atrocious act by Number Four, and Number Four hungers vengeance. But Number Four is significantly smaller, weaker, and its fangs do minor damage to the armored dragon's invulnerable scales. Revenge will be virtually impossible.

For a moment, Levi wonders if the world has gone insane. Or perhaps Levi is the one who has gone insane. The air up here is thin. He could be delirious. Then he decides that it is probably a bit of both. Suddenly, the female breaks right, and Levi slips to the joint where her wing and shoulder meet. He sheathes his swords, optioning for a short dagger instead. He plunges it into her flesh. It pegs, fixed between her ribs and acts as a handgrip, delaying his inevitable, fatal fall a moment longer.

If he can reach her spines, he will have something to hold on to. There is a chance of survival. It's small, but it's all he has. He crawls, pushing himself forward with the toe of his boot, using the wedge of her shoulder and wing as a foothold—

The female rolls. Levi loses his foothold. His handgrip is lost. Then the world upturns. The sky is at his feet, the earth at his head. Up is down, down is up, and he is somewhere between.

Is he flying, or is he falling? What's the difference? Is there a difference at all? Levi doesn't know the answer. In his opinion, he could be flying. But to someone else, he could be falling. Is it because he has no wings?

The brutal bloodbath between Number Four and the armored dragon becomes a distancing nightmare, farther and farther, higher and higher, as Levi falls or flies downward. The colossal reluctantly hovers on the outskirts as if waiting to interfere in worst-case scenario, and the female is still recovering her eyes, stumbling in confused patterns. Number Four turns its head and its gaze catches Levi's. Then it tucks its wings and dives.

_What, it doesn't want a good meal getting away?_ Number Four bolts at Levi, the armored and colossal dragons not far behind. Levi would rather be flattened from impact than be eaten. He cranes his head back, estimating the distance of his plummet. The ground is too far away. Number Four will gobble him midair.

"Tch." Levi wraps his fingers around the hilt of his sword and waits for Number Four. He will _not_ be eaten. Number Four is close, its intense emerald eyes ablaze. Number Four is closer. Levi clenches his grip. _Fwoom! _Number Four passes and swings under Levi, and Levi twists around just in time to wrap his arms around its neck.

Unquestionably, the world has gone insane, and Levi is simply a passenger. He mounts Number Four the way he would mount his horse. Levi's knees straddle the thicker base of its neck, his body settled between its shoulder blades. Then Number Four gives a strong beat of its wings and hurtles ahead.

The armored and colossal pursue Number Four, and the female has come to join, her eyes now fully repaired. All three dragons open their mouths wide, flame igniting in their throats. They let loose a torrent of molten breath, and Number Four does a barrel roll out of its fiery path.

But Levi doesn't have enough grip for that. The onslaught of air blows him back. He struggles to hold on. He slides down Number Four's backbone, and gravity lifts him airborne. Number Four doesn't have spines like the female. Its dorsal is completely smooth, its scales slippery, like it has ascended from water. Levi has nothing to hold tight to, so he settles for clawing at Number Four's slick neck. His fingers burrow in flesh. With a frustrated grunt, Levi roots his fingers in dragon muscle, roughly scrabbling for his life, and hot, dragon blood gathers under his nails, sizzling like doused, smoldering coals.

Number Four releases a wail and looks back at Levi, its emerald eyes lit, and Levi meets its look, trying not to fall. Levi never thought dragons could make expressions, but right now it seems Number Four is glaring at him. Then, later, it seems Number Four is not glaring at him. Its intense eyes soften, and it pans level as if understanding Levi had been falling. Levi loosens his hold. Left in Number Four's neck are claw marks oozing blood, and the edges of the scales where Levi's fingers had been dug are charred, burnt.

Levi checks behind them. The other three are at Number Four's tail. Number Four isn't fast enough for escape, even less so with Levi as passenger. Shortly, it is overcome. The armored dragon strongly rams into it, the female fiercely mauls at its side, and Levi is caught in the middle. Amid the bedlam of snapping fangs, tearing talons, and whipping tails, Levi handles his sword. He manages a nasty slash on the armored dragon's wing, and each time the armored flaps its wings the slash rips wider and wider, until a distinct hole throws it out of balance. It loses control of flight and staggers.

That is the moment the colossal finally chooses to make a move. It strokes its tail at Number Four like an iron mace, knocking it toward the ground, and the massive force sends Number Four spiraling down, down, down. And Levi goes with it.

They are not flying. They are falling. This time, Levi is certain. The fall is violent. The onrushing wind shoves Levi against Number Four, and the aftershocks of the colossal's tailwhip pushes Number Four on top of Levi. Their weights are caught in a joust, but Levi is a fraction of Number Four's size. He will lose out and be crushed.

Arching its wings, Number Four flips them round before that can happen. Then earth greets collapsed dragon, and it isn't a pleasant encounter. Uneven rock skins dragon belly as Number Four skids across gravelly ravine, cranking up dust and pebble and ebbed river. And Levi is tossed aside. On glossy stone, he rolls and rolls, until he can't roll anymore.

Bruised, busted, and face-down, Levi lies motionless. Through his teeth, he sucks in a hiss. He has to get up. There is no time for rest. Drawing from the last of his strength, he crawls to his feet, ignoring the pangs and aches, and looks skyward. The three dragons are storming this way.

Levi reaches back for his crossbow. Countdown starting anew, he wrenches the dragon's eye from the hilt of his sword and places it in the cavity at the head of his crossbow specially crafted to fit the orb. The eye glows brighter as he takes aim. _One… _He shuts one eye, releasing a slow, controlled exhalation, shoulders stable. _Two… _The dragons close in on the patchy treetops at the top of the ravine, in range. _Three… _Lungs emptied, hands steady, he pulls the trigger.

The arrow, enchanted with dragon power, flies farther than a normal arrow would, its aim deadlier. It pierces the armored dragon's eye, spot-on. It howls in pain and shrinks away. Levi nocks another arrow, setting aim once again. He breathes out and shoots. This one spears the female's newly regenerated eye. She doubles back accordingly. He nocks a third arrow, but they don't need any more reason to retreat. The three dragons take flight to the mountains.

Making sure they don't change their minds, he watches until they disappear in the dense overcast. And still, he watches longer. Then his attention shifts to the loud, heavy breathing behind him. He turns. Down the ravine is the capsized Number Four, its sides swelling and caving deeply, slowly. Blood gushes from severe war wounds made by knifelike talons and teeth, collecting in pools on the rock.

"You moronic, overgrown lizard," mutters Levi. "If you hadn't interfered I…" If it had not interfered, Levi would be a splash of guts and bones someplace.

Bloody streaks on the boulders and stones make a clear track of their graceless landing, and Levi replaces his crossbow on his back, then follows that path. Giving a low rumble that Levi thinks sounds like a sigh, Number Four's eyes roll to the back of its skull. Then it shatters into shards of white, raining light. Levi freezes midstride, hand flinching for his sword. The light subsides.

Levi has to blink—once—twice—thrice before he can comprehend what he is looking at. Where the dragon had been lying is a human boy, pathetically curled in a ball, holding his side, where blood dribbles from his badly tattered tunic.

Running his eyes from the boy's thick, unruly, brown hair to his tough-skinned bare feet, Levi can't comprehend what he has just witnessed. This boy can't be that dragon. That dragon can't be this boy. It is unfathomable. It is impossible. It is…

At the nape of the boy's neck are four longwise gashes. Levi then inspects his own fingers. Beneath his nails, where gouged out dragon scales had once been amassed, now stands shavings of human flesh. There is no denying it. That dragon had been this boy. This boy is that dragon. They are one in the same…and it—he—saved Levi, a dragon hunter.

_This boy, just what exactly is this boy?_ Levi takes a wary step closer—

"Stay away from him!" comes a threatening snarl. Levi snaps his head to the side. Two kids, a black-haired girl and a blonde boy, come bounding down the decline of the ravine. The girl reaches them first—the one that snarled at Levi. She falls to her knees and carefully takes the dragon boy's head in her lap, cradling his cheek on the inside of her leg. "I told you not to fight…" she cracks in a thick murmur, eyes moist.

"Eren!" cries the blonde boy, clumsily stumbling on rock. He catches himself, barely avoiding a potential faceplant, and kneels next to the other two.

As a hunter, it is expected of Levi to know and identify the spawn of the Otherworld. Immediately he knows the dark-haired girl is a mystic and the boy is an elf. That could only mean the dragon boy is a shifter, but Levi has not once seen a dragon shifter.

The mystic tenderly brushes the gashes on the boy's neck. Then she flips her dark eyes to Levi. They are tapered, accusatory, and infinitely dark. "Did you do this?" she icily demands.

Levi tightens his jaw. "I—"

"It wasn't his fault," croaks the boy, Eren, his voice weak, hardly a hiss. "He had no grip." He coughs and groans, eyes half-lidded and faded, and the girl hovers her hand over the scratch marks. They close up like a blink.

"Mikasa," calls the elf, "the hunters and the king's guard are coming. I can hear them."

"Help me carry him." Mikasa and the elf each take one of Eren's arms around their shoulders and lift him to his feet. Supported by his friends, Eren starts hobbling away, semiconscious.

Levi blocks their path. "Sorry, kiddos. I can't let you leave."

Mikasa scowls darkly at him. "Do you know what they'll do to him?" she hisses. "They'll kill him."

"You could be right," he admits. "But this guy already blew his cover. He'll be hunted down and killed either way. But my guess is this: if he willingly surrenders, he'll be seen as less of a threat. They'll probably even allow him a trial."

The elf hesitates. "He has a point, Mikasa."

"What good will a trial be if they want him dead?" she retorts.

"I can't tell you what the outcome will be," mutters Levi. "I can only say that no matter what you do, no matter where you go…that kid will always be hunted. So you can either take a chance and trust in others, or you can try to run." They won't get far. Eren can hardly walk and he leaves a spotty trail of blood with each step he takes. Hunters will quickly find them. "I won't stop you," he tells them. "But I _will_ chase you down and bring you back. That's what hunters do."

The elf turns his head, attention brought to something at the ridge of the ravine. Mikasa and Levi follow his line of sight. Observing them from the high ground, Erwin and the squadron and a small group of guardsmen emerge on horseback. It seems they have run out of time for a getaway. For better or for worse, the Otherworlders will have to trust in humanity. They have no other choice.

* * *

Eren's head pounds and pounds and pounds. Did a rock somehow find its way inside his skull during that crash landing? Will it ever stop? The bleeding has receded, at least. Dragons heal at a remarkably fast rate. Already his cuts have been traded for clotted, day-old scabs and his bruises have turned a less severe yellowish shade.

There is arguing behind the relentless tolling in his head. Many, many voices garble words Eren can't follow, but he knows they are talking about him. He can feel it in the way Mikasa clenches her grasp on his waist, and the way Armin keeps nervously shuffling, pale-blue eyes glued to the side of Eren's face. Rapid-fire accusations and questions are hurled at Eren. What is he? A dragon? A human boy? Is he an enemy? A friend? The pounding is still too loud. He can't answer them.

Then a hand shoots out for Armin, and Eren instantly shakes wide-awake, the pounding, pounding gone. "Perhaps they are _all_ of the Otherworld," sneers a bolder guardsman. He grabs a handful of Armin's golden locks, exposing the unique curvature of his left ear. "Just as I thought—an elf." The guard draws Armin closer. "I know exactly what to do with this one."

There is nothing in this realm, or in the next, that boils hotter than blood. Eren can vouch. His veins sear with ire as he protectively springs in front of Armin. Before he knows what he is doing, in a flash of enchanted light, Eren shifts, stamping his paws in the ground, hard—so hard that rock caves and craters. From the bottom of his stomach he unleashes an earth-shattering roar, gaping his jaws wide and showcasing his keen-edged fangs menacingly. The forest bordering the ravine trembles; startled, squawking crows take flight; and the guard collapses to his knees, blood curdled thick with fear, his hands clamped over his ears to shield his rattling eardrums.

"_ROOOOOAAAAAAAAAR!_" Eren's long neck strains and shakes, muscles seized. Fire surges his gut to his ribcage, to his sternum. At his mouth, he foams sparks. He digs his paws in the cratered rock, wanting this lung-long roar to frighten this guard till he is half-dead. Eren wants this threat to ring eternally in this man's ears. This guard will _never_ _again_ lay his grubby hands on Armin!

Then Eren's leg is impaled. His foot goes dead, the world fades, and he wavers. Nostrils flaring, Eren fervently inhales, fighting the toxin branching through his nervous system. He staggers right then left, desperately trying to hold his ground. It is a futile effort. He falls. Loose dust is disturbed and hovers around him like a cloud as he crashes chin-first.

The dragon slayer replaces his crossbow on his back and removes the stun arrow from Eren's right forefoot. "That's enough," he calmly mutters. "No harm will come to the elf."

Eren is human once again, numbed from fingers to toes. "You…don't…know…that," he manages to gasp between heavy breathing.

"Hey, you overgrown lizard," Levi says. "You can trust me."

"Ha," wryly wheezes Eren. "A dragon trust a dragon hunter? What a joke." He tries to laugh, but only thin, feeble breath comes out. The bitter jab at the hunter is weaker than he wants it to be. "And shooting me was the perfect punch line. Who knew dragon hunters had such great senses of humor."

"You were scaring the guardsmen."

"Good," Eren growls. "'Cause if they even _think_ about touching Armin again, I'll kill every single last one of 'em." He sends a murderous warning through his eyes at the guardsmen. The more they fear Eren, the less likely they are to hassle Armin.

"Eren!" Armin interferes. "You're not helping your case. Right now…they'll kill you."

"They can try," he barks animal-like, baring his sharp incisors, daring them to make a move.

Levi fists Eren's thick hair. "Are you an idiot?" he mutters. "Use the modest intelligence that you have. Say no more."

"He's an idiot, dragon hunter," Mikasa tells him. "He doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut."

Eren shoots her a scowl. "You're supposed to be on my side, Mikasa."

"I'm always on your side."

Eren wants to say more, he wants to argue, he wants to make sure no one lays a hand on Armin, but the blood pumping through his veins is laden with toxin from that stun arrow. His body goes heavy, opiated. Then his mind is off somewhere else or maybe nowhere at all, wherever unconscious minds go or don't go.

It is dark. Eren opens his eyes. It is dark, still. Did that dragon hunter kill him in the end? He tries to move, but he has limited movement range. He doesn't know what is restraining him, but he hears metal jangling. Chains, he realizes. He has been chained, upright, his wrists locked and arms suspended by his head, his elbows just short of ninety-degree angles.

Because eyesight is a dragon's strongest sense, when it is inhibited, the other senses are heightened tenfold to compensate for the loss. Eren can feel fluxes in the dank air about him. He can hear the _drip, drip, drip_ of a leaking pipeline on damp, stone floor. He is in a dungeon. Then he hears the heartbeats of the people standing a ways in front of him, and can smell their silver birch scent. They discuss Eren's fate, but Eren doesn't like being ignored. He wants his presence acknowledged.

"Hey," he interrupts. "What's going on?"

"Oh! He's awake!" says a shrill, female voice he doesn't recognize. This woman's heart rate soars, and she advances him, too fast. If Eren had not been chained, he would have fled the other way. "I have a theory," she tells him, now at his toes. "A dragon's eyes are its power source. They're invaluable. That's why I figured if your eyesight was hindered, you'd have difficulty shifting. Am I right?"

"To be honest, I know that I'm underground. I'd probably die if I tried to shift."

The woman is only more thrilled. "Fantastic! Your senses are amazing!"

"Will you take off the blindfold, then?"

"No," answers a neutral, composed voice Eren has not heard more than a few times but feels like he has known for much longer. "We're not taking any chances," the hunter says.

"It's only a precaution," says another deep, commanding voice, the kind of voice Eren imagines belongs to a tall, broad, sculpture-esque man. "Please understand." The authoritative man comes forward, but the hunter remains in place near the door. "I am Erwin Smith, commander of the hunter squadron. And you, Eren Jaeger, are the fourth dragon we were ordered to eliminate. However, considering the situation, I felt that a change of plans was required. We have convinced the king to sanction a trial by jury. You will receive judgment later this evening, and I will do my best to see you a merciful fate."

Eren sighs in relief. "I'm grateful, but…why would you do that for me?"

"Levi explained the circumstances. You have done no wrong."

The hunter defended Eren? "Thank you."

"I don't like to cut things short and leave the state of affairs unclear, so I apologize for the brevity of this first meeting, but we have other business to attend to. We will answer any questions that you surely have when we return."

"Wait, I have just one question," says Eren. "Are my friends okay?"

Eren can hear the smile in Erwin's voice. "Yes. I assure you they are in good hands."

"Thanks."

And with that, the hunters leave, padlocking the hefty door behind them.

It is not long after, not even a full ten minutes, the lock is unbolted again and the door harshly squeals ajar. The hunters are back already? Eren catches a waft of a scent, and it's not the silver birch scent characteristic of the hunters. It is a stale one from being packed indoors for too long.

"Well, well, well. Look what we've got here." That voice—it's that guard who tried to touch Armin!

Eren grinds his teeth, his chest bubbling at the mere presence of this man. "Aren't you the guy I made piss his pants?"

There are stiffled snorts from the other guards, as they try to suppress their laughter but miserably fail. Eren counts two of them. Altogether, three guardsmen make up Eren's unwanted company.

"You have a foul mouth," the insulted guard hisses.

"And you have a foul scent," Eren shoots back. "You reek."

Steaming furiously, heart raging, the guard stiffly marches up to Eren, and Eren thinks that he is going to punch him or kick him or throttle him, but he does none of those things. He steps directly behind Eren, and Eren can nearly feel him shaking with anger like clockwork about to detonate.

"Without your dragon eyes, you're just an insolent little shit who needs to be put in line," he rasps, practically spitting at Eren. The back of Eren's ragged tunic, now just shreds of threadbare fabric fighting to cover his shoulders, is twisted in two unkind grasps. The guard finishes the fight, tearing it wide open with an ugly _riiiiiip_, exposing Eren's bare back.

"Toss me the whip." There is a pass of something—a whip, Eren guesses—and the guard catches it. Eren can hear the whip coil on the stone floor ready to spring at him like a striking snake. "Allow me to show you your place."

Eren refuses to let this guard see anything but defiance. "Go for it."

That does it. Winding the whip far back, building ruthless power, the guard hurls it at Eren, swift. First, there is only the jerk of Eren's body, flesh and muscle deeply torn by the lash. Then comes the excruciating pain of fire and flame. Eren swallows a cry, gritting his teeth so tightly they creak on the brink of shattering.

"Cry," commands the guard. "I might stop."

Eren braces his muscles for another strike of the whip. _Thwack!_ It is harder to hold back his yelp this time. He has to bite his lip. The thin skin splits. He tastes rust.

"I said, _cry!_" Faster, the guard brings the whip down on Eren. Eren has not prepared himself yet, and a small whimper slips out against his will. He gnaws his lip harder, making certain he will not give this man any satisfaction.

Again. And again. And again. In a cycle of seize and fire, the sharp whip bites Eren's back. Planes of his muscle lose chunks of meat, melting right off his body. His skin curls and cringes. His back is burning so hot it is cold. And Eren's mind withdraws to a dark place. He begins to wonder if this pain will ever end. He starts to ask himself if he deserves this. He starts believing that maybe he does.

The blackness that he sees behind the blindfold spots white and violet. He has no strength to hold up his head. He has no strength to hold up his body. He dangles, suspended by chafing chains, arms taut. He jerks with another lick of the whip, head lurching limply. Not a sound is made, his voice stubbornly locked up tight.

"You have spirit. I'll give you that."

Desperately, Eren's chest pumps for air, and with each expand of his chest, the slashes in his back gape open, spilling fresh blood and streaming down his legs. How can Eren lose so much and remain conscious? Even his toes slip in a puddle that has gathered at his feet. Breathing hurts. Not breathing hurts more. He wants the darkness to take his mind if only to escape the agony. Eren can't last forever. He will give in. So _please_, just let him blackout!

But either the heavens don't hear his pleas or they ignore him. Eren gives a pained hiss with another lick. This is it. Eren has reached his threshold. At the hellish sound of the whip being reeled, Eren opens his mouth to beg the guard for no more, _no more—!_

The door screeches open. Eren holds still. So does the guard. So does the air. The world has seemed to stop rotating on its axis. _Who has enough power to make the world stop moving?_

"Don't let me interrupt," coolly says a quiet, familiar voice. _The dragon hunter._ "Weren't you giving that little shit a piece of your mind?" The guardsman shifts uncertainly. "Go on," the hunter flatly says. "I won't stop you."

The guardsman winds his arm, but his movements are significantly less confident than before. The whip pops against Eren's back for the tenth—twentieth—or was that the thirtieth time. Eren's body violently jolts, his chains quake, and he is mute.

"Don't you think that's enough?" says one of the other guards, uneasily fidgeting by the door.

"I don't think this kid has learned his lesson yet," the hunter says, and Eren can't tell if that's what he truly thinks or not. "Keep going."

The succession of the next strike is slower as if the hunter has slowed time under his gaze. The guardsman is reluctant as he curls the whip again. Something about the hunter's presence, Eren realizes, makes the guard nervous.

"Come on, guardsman," impatiently demands Levi. "We don't have all day."

Eren wants to resentfully glare at the hunter. He wants to yell at him. He wants to remind him that Eren saved his life. _TWICE!_ And _this_ is how he repays him?

Eren convulses with another lash. Locking his jaw, he bites back a shout. There is another slow succession and another less confident stroke and another jolt of impact.

"You're too soft." The clicks of boots approach. The smell of silver birch mixed with a different scent, a clean one like soap drifts near. Then the hunter stands at Eren's right side. "Let me show you how to properly discipline." Levi holds out his hand, and the guardsman gladly hands over the whip.

But there are no more licks of the whip. "Discipline can only be delivered properly by establishing control." Eren can feel the hunter loosen his blindfold. "And to do that, you have to look him in the eyes."

"Don't! He'll change!" the guardsman cries.

Levi pauses. "Are you afraid of him?" he questions, detached almost bored. The guard stutters, unable to give an intelligible reply. "That's the difference between you and me. I'm not afraid of this little shit." Levi peels off the blindfold, dropping it to the floor, forgotten, and Eren opens his eyes, instantly at odds with a colorless stare.

The hunter has drooped, colorless eyes, silvery like ice, a frozen, sleepless, insensitive color. Circles cut under them, making him appear wearied or maybe jaded like he shoulders a great burden. He is tense and serious, guarded and impenetrable. Is this the same man Eren dragged to the beach? This man is intimidating, without a hint of vulnerability. He makes Eren's mouth run dry and his stomach squeeze.

Levi gestures for the guardsman to come closer. Looking like he would rather sink through the floor, the guard very much halfheartedly approaches. He is square to Eren, taller and looking down at Eren, but reluctant and unwilling all the same. He is afraid. And Eren is murderous. The guard stiffens, reeling back a step. Then Levi wraps his fingers on the guardsman's shoulder, forcing him still so that he is head-on with the black waves radiating from Eren.

"Look at that glare," Levi remarks quietly by the guard's ear, and Eren can imagine the hairs on the back of the guard's neck bristling. "This guy's serious." Levi casually pats the guard on his shoulder. "When he fries you to a crisp, I'll be sure to tell the king of your hard work."

The guard goes bug-eyed. "What?!" he gasps, whirling. "You can't let him kill me!"

Levi is unblinking and uncaring. "That's not my problem."

"It's your job to hunt monsters!"

Levi gives a beat. "Where's the monster?" he deadpans.

The guard splutters incoherently, thrown by the question. He sweeps his arms wildly at Eren in a _right-in-front-of-your-goddamn-face _kind of way. "It's this—this…_THING!_"

Levi considers that for a moment, then folds his arms over his chest. "Are you a monster?" he asks, studying Eren, straight-faced.

"No." Eren looks away. "Maybe…" he mumbles. He hangs his head, defeated by the simple question. "I dunno."

Levi studies him a little longer. "You should probably figure that out, then. I'll give you a minute."

Eren looks at him, puzzled, but Levi's straight face doesn't clear his confusion.

"Time's up. Now…" slowly says Levi, each of his words deliberate, allowing enough time for them to settle and penetrate Eren fully, "I'll ask you again." His colorless, ice eyes harden and sharpen, commanding, but his voice is quiet and low. It is smooth, almost like silk, and unreadable. "Tell me, are you a monster?"

"I don't want to be."

"So you choose to be human?"

Eren has a choice? "Yes, sir."

"Hear that?" Levi says a little louder, speaking to the guardsman, never tearing his gaze from Eren. "This guy isn't a monster." At last, he breaks his eyes from Eren and looks to the guard. "It appears your services are unneeded." When the guard makes no move to leave, Levi offhandedly gestures at the door. "The door is that way. Use it."

Once the door shrieks and rumbles shut behind the three guards with finality, Levi stands straight and moves to the side of the room, a place out of Eren's perspective. Eren hears a pump of iron, a steady flow of water, and then the hunter is behind Eren, carefully dabbing a soaked cloth on his shredded back, saying nothing. The water and cloth irritate the open tears. The suffering muscles in Eren's back churn. The dabs become gentler.

"You let him whip me," Eren accuses, his voice echoing in the dungeon.

"What he wanted was to see you break." Levi's voice is too low to echo. "If I had stopped him, he would've come back and tried again."

"So you let him whip me," Eren repeats sharply.

"That's right. And he realized that no matter what he did, you would never submit. You're a true monster."

At those gently spoken but stinging words, Eren flinches as if he has been lashed by the whip again. "That's what you think I am?"

"That's what that pig thinks of you," he says in that jaded platitude, giving nothing away.

Eren can't tell what this hunter thinks of him. He doesn't ask, either. He is terrified of the answer. Levi continues dabbing, unexpectedly gentle for someone renowned for his formidable strength. Eren fights a shudder.

"You heal quickly." Levi wrings out the blood-water from the cloth, letting it trickle to the floor. "I'll have someone bring you fresh clothing." He drapes the cloth over his shoulder and starts to the door.

"You're leaving?" stammers Eren. "Just like that?"

Levi makes a lazy, half glance over his shoulder, shadowed and without face. "I only came to say one thing." Then he is without face to the door, his hand grasping the door's handle, voice still low, still unreadable, still giving nothing away. "Thank you for catching me." Then the hunter is gone.


	3. You Have A Nice Heartbeat

Oh, man. I was pleasantly surprised by all the reviews. I got all giddy with each one. Thank you guys very much:)

* * *

When the dragon hunters return, they cuff Eren's hands behind his back and retie the blindfold around his face. "To appease those spineless guards," the overactive woman, whose name Eren learned was Hanji, had told him. They usher him to the throne room where hundreds, possibly thousands of buzzing voices and pounding heartbeats meet him.

_"That's it? That's the monster?"_

_"Looks like a kid to me."_

_"The face of a kid, the soul of a beast."_

_"If he even has one…"_

_"I'm tellin' you, he'll burn down the whole kingdom!"_

_"An abomination!" _

_"The hunters should do their job and kill him, already."_

Eren stumbles. He doesn't know if he tripped because he is disoriented without his eyesight, or if the barefaced hatred and disgust closing in on both sides has made him lose his footing. Their revulsion crawls under Eren's skin like ice-pins pricking at his nerves. His feet tell him to fly, but Hanji sets her hand on his back, directing him onward.

They walk a moment more, then she tells him to kneel. Eren follows her order. His cuffs are then locked to a bolt nailed in the marble floor, fixing him in a permanent kneel. He is at humanity's mercy, defenseless.

"Welcome your fair princess, Christa Lenz," announces a strong-voiced sentry positioned by the throne.

The soft clicking of heels comes from a left entryway. The princess isn't alone. There is someone else at her side, most likely a guard or a caregiver. The clicking heels head Eren's way, and Eren straightens as best he can.

"Be wary, Princess," says the sentry.

"Don't worry," she tells him. "My caregiver is strong. I trust her."

The princess comes to a halt in front of Eren, too close for the comfort of the mass of loyal subjects. Eren can feel their dagger-like stares penetrating his back. "You're Eren Jaeger, a dragon shifter," says the princess.

She smells familiar, like wintergreen or maybe pine. Armin has an identical smell, though he also has a hint of sweet vanilla—his personal scent. Christa has a trace of a more soothing one, like lavender.

"Princess…" Eren murmurs, realizing what that wintergreen waft means. "You're…"

Gently, she slips her fingers beneath his blindfold and pulls it free. Her knees are bent a little as she smiles warmly at him. "I'm what?" The points of her ears are buried beneath her long, golden hair. She is in disguise, as they all are.

"Never mind."

"I know…" She fingers through her hair a little self-consciously. "I'm an elf."

Eren goes slack-jawed. Their princess is an Otherworlder! Just like Armin. Just like Mikasa. Just like him. He does a quick check around them, making sure nobody has overheard her. They seem to be in the clear. Then Eren sizes up the tall, freckle-faced girl next to Christa. "Are you an elf, too?" There are too many other smells around to pick hers out.

With her arms crossed on her chest, down the bridge of her nose, she frowns at Eren as if he is beneath her—which at this point, he is. He has to arc his head back to look at her. "Of course not," she snaps like the question is the stupidest thing she has ever heard. She takes Christa's arm, without a beat of regard for her higher eminence. "You don't know what he wants. We can't trust him."

Christa's round, tear-blue eyes grow. "But he's—"

"—a dragon shifter," Freckle-Face says sharply, her critical stare severe on Eren. "He has the ability to burn this entire kingdom to the ground. Understand that, Princess. Being nice to him does nothing for you." Freckle-Face drags Christa away, and as she is dragged, Princess Christa glances apologetically over her shoulder at Eren.

_What a weird girl, that Freckle-Face… _Deciding he has more important problems facing him, Eren discards all thoughts about Freckle-Face and surveys the room. Behind him and angled to the side are the hunters, a stretch of intricately engraved table separating them from Eren and the rest of the attendees. Armin and Mikasa are at the very frontline of the jittery, swaying heads. They watch, stiff with apprehension. Eren wishes they hadn't come. It isn't safe. Although his own daughter is an elf, the king isn't known for the kindness he shows to Otherworlders.

"Welcome the mighty King," the sentry declares.

In comes the king, regal and high, wearing a magnificent, red robe and a wreath crown crafted of white gold. At the front of the room, he elegantly strides from the side entrance to his throne, the air seeming to part way for him. The world wonders his godlike splendor. Deep-set eyes acknowledging the worshipping crowd, he raises his hands, signaling his subjects to ease, then takes his seat in his tall, gleaming throne.

"Dragon hunters, you have requested a trial," he says, addressing them directly, "and I have generously obliged. But why are there two spare Otherworlders present? We do not welcome their kind."

At that, Armin shies behind Mikasa as if attempting to hide, but he is already realized. And Mikasa frowns, neither frightened nor threatened. The king's disapproval ricochets right off her tough shell.

Erwin bows respectfully, one arm swept over his broad chest. "I appreciate your kindness, Your Majesty. The mystic and the elf are Eren Jaeger's companions. I thought it would only be fitting for them to attend."

"Fitting? Their affiliation with the dragon boy does not concern me. They are not welcome."

"You'd be surprised how many people have traces of Otherworld blood in them," says Erwin. "Even many of your subjects have some kind of Otherworld heritage. They may not be aware, but it is truth."

Taking that as cue, Hanji pipes in. "Our very own Petra, here, is part faerie." She slings an arm around the petite, auburn-haired hunter, grinning. "I mean, just look at this adorable face. Of course she's got Otherworld blood!"

Utterly humiliated, Petra blushes furiously and smacks Hanji's arm away.

A nameless voice in the crowd speaks up. "So what, does that make the short guy part dwarf?"

The taunt has a taste of wit, but nobody laughs. They all know of the dragon hunter's unparalleled reputation. The entire throne room grows still with a thick, almost palpable silence. Each set of eyes is on Levi, nervously waiting for his reaction. The silence carries on and fledges into a full haze pressing into their skin like pressure points. People uneasily shuffle and shift. There are uncomfortable coughs and gulps. The room holds its breath.

"I'm not," Levi nonchalantly mutters at last, "but if I had been, that little comment would've cost you your life." He turns his head only a fraction—just enough to lazily glance at the cheeky merchant from the corners of his droopy eyes. "Aren't you glad that isn't the case?" His voice is monotonous and indifferent, but somehow chills the room. The sound of his disturbingly calm voice alone sends the temperature in the room plummeting, tensions rise higher, and the hairs on Eren's arms prickle, receding into the sleeves of his shirt.

"Levi's right," adds Hanji. "Dwarves are a proud race. They don't take kindly to insults, especially when their stature is involved. Next time, be more careful."

The merchant ducks his head, squirming under Levi's frosty stare. Eren doesn't think it is the wrath of insulted dwarves that the merchant is worried about—the dragon hunter's unwavering stare is more disconcerting. "I'm a lucky man, then."

"Hunter Levi," says the king, "you are the one who has interacted closest with this boy. I would like to hear your impression of him first."

Eren twists around as far as he can. The position isn't at all comfortable, but he also wants to know what the hunter thinks. Levi stands with his arms folded next to Erwin, and the drastic height difference either makes Erwin look taller or Levi look smaller. Could be both. "He's a hotheaded brat with an impulsive mouth."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Very."

There is an uproar of _"just as I thought, he's a monster!" _and _"he must be eliminated!"_, and Eren shrinks smaller as if he could merge with the marble floor. At this rate, he is going to be sentenced to death.

"Whether or not he's dangerous isn't the question," Levi goes on, and the skittish hum of voices dies down. "It's who is he a danger to—who does he consider the enemy."

Intrigued by the notion, the king leans forward. "And who would that be?"

Levi shrugs. "Ask him."

The king settles his gaze on Eren, and Eren lowers his head in respect. "Eren Jaeger, what were you trying to do? Why would you throw away your well-maintained camouflage?"

"Your Majesty," Eren says, projecting his voice steady, "this is my home. I've grown up here, and when I saw the others attacking the kingdom, I knew I had to stop them. I couldn't stand by and do nothing as everything I had known was obliterated."

"So you claim your intentions were noble," the king says, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "But how can I determine the authenticity of that claim?"

"I have a proposal," says Erwin, when no answer comes to the king's dilemma. "Why not utilize his dragon power for your kingdom?" He lays his hand on Hanji's shoulder. "This is my Otherworld expert, Hanji Zoe. She has a few things to say."

Turning around, Hanji rummages through a satchel one of the hunters had been carrying. "I've brought a book with me. It's a record of the Otherworld. The only one in existence."

"Where'd you get it?" the king asks.

"That's a long story," she tells him, quickly throwing a wet rag on the question. She sets a massive book on the table. It lands with a resounding _boom!,_ suggesting its ridiculous bulk. She flips it open. The pages are brittle with age, crackling as she thumbs through.

"Long ago there was a time knights would ride the backs of dragons. They were called dragon riders. Our generation remembers nothing of this era," she informs the listening crowd. "However, it's documented in this book, right here."

"What's your point?"

"The age of dragon riders died out because dragon shifters died out. You see, people didn't ride just your average, fire-breathing beasts. They rode shifters. A pact was made between the two, rider and shifter—a pact of superior and subordinate. But it got complicated. Shifters were often used, restrained, and abused. They were at the losing end of the deal. That's the reason for their decline. But you have a strong, young, passionate shifter right in front of you. All you need now is a rider who will treat him fairly." She reflexively messes with her glasses, excitement stirring an involuntary tic. "With a dragon and rider pair, your kingdom will be untouchable. You'll be unrivaled. Isn't that what you want, Your Highness?"

Unconcealed interest flickers in the king's expression. Rubbing at his trim, white beard, he smiles absentmindedly like he is presently picturing the possible future of his kingdom gaining total supremacy.

"You want someone to be Eren's rider?" Mikasa interferes in disbelief. "People aren't meant to ride dragons, and dragon shifters aren't meant to be caged! They need _freedom_."

"That is the drawback," Hanji agrees. "If Eren makes a pact with a rider, he will have to submit to the rider's absolute control. Eren will have no other choice but to obey."

"I cannot allow a rogue beast to wander my kingdom," says the king, waving off the _"drawback"_, unconcerned. "With a rider restraining him, my people will feel more at ease." A moment longer, the king considers his options. "If he can find a rider within the week, I will allow him to remain in my kingdom. If he fails or refuses, I will have no other choice but to exile him."

Eren's stomach falls. _Exile?_ He looks to Mikasa and Armin. Armin is gripping Mikasa's arm, preventing her from spouting the protest on her lips. They are his only friends. No, they are more than that. They are his only family… If Eren is exiled, he will never see them again. They will never sail the seas together. This could be the last moments they ever share with one another. The thought weighs on Eren's chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Finding a rider will be tricky," Hanji explains. "You need someone mentally strong enough to control him or else the pact will be a bust. As you can plainly see, Eren is an incredibly strong-willed boy, stronger than the most of us. To find someone fit to be his rider won't be easy." She touches her chin, eyes tossed to the book as she ponders aloud. "He needs someone that he respects, someone that makes him uneasy, to an extent…someone that he even fears."

There is only one person that comes to Eren's mind. His eyes mechanically dart to the dragon hunter.

"I will hold a tournament, then," proclaims the king. "My strongest knight will claim the dragon and be endowed dragon rider." The king directs his gaze upon Eren. "What say you, boy?"

There is a lot Eren wants to say, something along the lines of "I refuse to be claimed" and "What am I, some kind of trophy?" and "You want me to prostitute my dragon power?", but Eren bites back the venom of irritation and feelings of injustice, letting them blister and fill his mouth with painful canker sores. He holds his chin as high as a person can stuck on his knees. "I have no objections, Your Highness," is what he says, but what he means is, _"Let's just see your strongest knights try to ride me."_

* * *

This time it is the king's guards that escort Eren back to the dungeon. On two vertical, parallel posts, they crank chains that are spun around a cog then threaded through two iron hoops to hold and stretch and stretch and stretch prisoners, dismembering ill-fated ones. They lock Eren's wrists and wind the bar till his arms are a taut, painful Y above his head, arms stretched sidelong as far as they are stretched to the ceiling.

Time moves, but Eren doesn't. Hours, days, weeks, Eren doesn't know how much time passes. Coldness and darkness are like incessant forces crushing him from all sides, practically bruising his shoulders and back. Eren shivers. It is too cold. It is too dark. The fire that Eren usually feels within his core is weak. He hardly feels it at all. Is it even still there? It must be, because Eren is still alive.

This underground dungeon is killing him bit-by-bit. Dragons need natural light—it is their life source, without it their internal energy will flicker out. It is a slow death, not a painful one, almost like falling asleep. And Eren is leaden with sleep. He closes his eyes, a long breath leaving him—

The shriek of bolts starts him awake. A person with a rapid heartbeat enters, and this person's scent wafts to Eren in a flux of ever-changing airflow. Eren recognizes it.

"You shouldn't…be here, Armin," he warns, out of breath for some reason. "If the guards catch you…you'll be accused…of treason." There is another flux in the air, and Eren catches a second scent, a strange one. He doesn't know what it is exactly. "Armin…? What have you been doing?"

"A dragon's senses are truly remarkable."

Thinking takes more effort than usual. It is like Eren's mind is trudging through viscous molasses. It takes him longer than it normally would to make sense of that voice. It sounds nothing like Armin, but that scent is definitely Armin's.

"You're not…Armin," Eren croaks, as his mind finally reaches the answer he has been battling for. Eren's mind is exhausted, but he presses on, trudging a bit further through the muck in his head. "You're that…guard." It is the guardsman that whipped Eren.

There are more questions needing answers that Eren has to struggle for. What is Armin's scent doing here if he isn't in the room? And what's with that other smell? It isn't the guard's identifiable stale scent. It is different, a release of something. It's a bit sour. Adrenaline, maybe? Or…? _Or—!_

Eren's heart works double-time as something sinks to the bottom of his stomach, something that feels a lot like dread. A flood of heat is emanating from the guard in a field of steamy warmth, and his pulse is excited. The dread holes further in Eren's gut. That weird smell, the rise in body temperature, and the fast heartbeat, along with Armin's scent—this man couldn't have—he _wouldn't _have!

"Where's Armin?" Eren demands urgently.

"Your elf friend?" the guard asks, a smile in his voice. "Why do you ask?"

"I can smell him on you!" shrilly shouts Eren. "What the _hell_ did you _do?!_" But it's obvious what has happened. Even after Eren warned him, even after Eren scared him half to death, he still had the nerve to touch Armin. Eren should have shattered his goddamn eardrums. Eren should have killed him when he had the chance.

Eren's heart rate skyrockets. _The fire_—the fire envelops his body, seething through him like molten bile. Overcome by blinding rage, Eren thrashes in his chains violently. The relentless iron scrapes his wrists till they are slick. He doesn't notice. Hot blood freely flows his forearms. He doesn't notice that, either.

"_You're DEAD!_" screams Eren. "_I'll KILL you!"_ A growl that lacks any kind of human semblance, the guttural howl of an enraged beast, thunders the dungeon as Eren savagely, uncontrollably fights the iron shackles trying to restrain him. The perseverance of the metal posts locking him in place falters. They bow to Eren's irrepressible fury. Over and over, Eren slams and slams harder, juddering the metal posts like a great seism of this world, of all the worlds. And the thin flesh of his wrists doesn't stand a chance. It abrades to nothing.

_Are you a monster? _the hunter had asked Eren. _So you choose to be human? _

_No…_ Eren changes his mind. He will be inhuman. He will be a monster and _annihilate_ this man. "_I'll kill you." _From the deepest, fiercest part of Eren, the part where his fire and fury eternally fester, the part where the inferno forever storms inside him, he lets out another unforgiving snarl, breaking body and muscle and metal as he fights forward.

Ligaments snap. Bones fissure and fissure greater. His body rips itself apart, unstitching like seams in quilt. Far, far beyond reason and sanity, he heaves another brutal slam against his body's grain, against the will of the chains, against all the fear and hate that keep him locked up, unleashing a bloody, fuming cry as his shoulders begin to tear loose from their sockets with audible pops and snaps.

Then a cloth is tossed at him. It hits his face. And it is so unexpected that Eren freezes, stunned. The cloth is strong with Armin's scent and drops to the floor. _What was that?_ Eren breathes in. The guard no longer has any traces of Armin sticking to him. The only thing with any sign of Armin is the cloth that lies by Eren's feet.

"I…don't understand," Eren finally stammers. If the guard had touched Armin, Eren would be able to sense it. But the only stenches coming from the guard are his own characteristic stale scent and the pungent smell of lust.

"What's not to understand? I was provoking the beast inside you."

"So you didn't touch Armin?"

"No, I didn't touch the elf."

The impact of relief is crippling. Eren almost blacks out and goes slack as death in his chains. That much anger and rage sapped Eren of all that he has, of all that he is. Lifeless, senseless, motionless, he is empty. He has broken down his own body so badly that he quivers, devastated, shattered. Faint in mind and body, his head dangles to his chest. All the fight inside him, his drive and fire, is consumed and quenched. He has none left.

"You put up quite a fight. I thought you'd actually get free." The guard's voice is close, and that wet, sour stench of lust has flourished into a dense stink. Eren almost gags. "That, or you'd tear off your own arms." The guard pauses. "Maybe both."

The guard knew the dragon boy would wear himself out. Now, here he is, so wasted that his body is unusable and trembling, hopelessly heaving for shallow breath. At first, the guardsman thought that he would have to use the elf to get to the dragon shifter. Then he realized he only had to convince the dragon boy that he had touched the elf to make him go berserk—which was much easier than actually getting his hands on the elf with that hunter squadron sticking to him like parasites.

_"You have a foul scent!" _the dragon boy had told him, _"You reek!" _But the boy had no idea what he had given away. That one insult was the inspiration of this very scheme. The guard got a hold of a pillowcase the elf had slept on the previous night, confident that the dragon shifter would be able to discern the identity of the owner by scent. It was simple. And the scheme played out as planned. Now comes the fulfilling reward for brains and apt handiwork. The guard will indulge fully.

The guard wraps his fingers around the dragon shifter's chin, his thumb giving a lone stroke of his full, boyish, lower lip. The black material acting as a blindfold hides the boy's blazing dragon eyes, but the guard doesn't need to see them to know how strongly they burn. An intense furrow of the boy's brow suggests just how fiery they are. He touches the deep furrow, slightly awed by it. "Always so intense." The dragon shifter burns with passion even broken and defeated. No…he is simply broken, not defeated. Not yet.

At the thought of seeing this boy overpowered, the guard snickers, then builds to a full fit of uncontrollable cackles that echo deafeningly in the dungeon. Payback is beautiful. He looks upon the dragon shifter's scowling face. Why does this rebellious little shit vex every nerve in his body? Why can't he get those dragon eyes out of his head? And…why is he imagining what it would feel like to go down on this boy?

"Your elf friend is pretty. So is your mystic friend. But you—you're all boy. There's _nothing_ pretty about you. You're just rough, volatile _boy_," he spits the word '_boy'_ like it is a curse. "I desire you. I desire a _boy_…" There is unmistakable incredulity in his own confession, as he only just now realized the truth.

If the new, dangerous development has any maligning influence on the dragon shifter, he doesn't let it show. He is unmoved. "Go bed a woman," he manages to hoarsely rasp, more breath than sound, "and leave me out of it."

"Don't you see what you've done to me? I don't want a woman."

The guard twists his fingers in the collar of the dragon shifter's shirt, deliberately curling them more and more. The fabric stretches then strains, frays then slowly tears—a tantalizing, piecemeal of young, glowing skin, a careful striptease unveiling the very prize that the strongest knights will battle for. The guard's mouth grows moist and he licks his too-dry lips. Blood runs to different parts of him, rousing heat and uncomfortable tension.

He wants this to be slow. He wants this to be personal. He wants to relish every moment, every sound, every measure. He watches the cotton unravel, admiring how each stitch seems to fight to hold together and then ultimately lose. The guard will conquer. He will be victorious and claim his reward. The small split deepens down the dragon shifter's chest, more of his tempting, pronounced collarbone displayed. The guard slides his hand up the curve of Eren's neck to the overgrown hair on the back of his head, weaving his fingers in the coarse thickness of it, pulling his face close.

"One way or another," he croons hotly in the dragon shifter's ear, "I will ride you." And he needn't fight anyone for it. In this moment, this boy is his and his alone.

The chains rattle with a faint cringe but nothing more. The guard forcefully tightens his fingers in Eren's hair, jerking his head back as far as it will go. The guard watches the veins in Eren's neck swell. The dragon shifter's pulse is fast, a vein visibly pumping, racing, roaring. It betrays the Otherworlder's true state. He is afraid. And the guard's chest is light.

He chuckles at the absurdity of it all. This stupid boy, this volatile, foul-mouthed little shit is seducing him! Doesn't he realize that? The guard wants to take him right then and there, but no. He will claim each part of this boy piece by piece so that his touch will forever remain ingrained in his flesh.

"Beg," he murmurs. "I might refrain myself."

As expected of the defiant little shit, he does no such thing. The guard smiles. The dragon boy is only asking for it, and the guard will gladly deliver. Releasing his hair, the guard steals his hands beneath the boy's shirt, fondling his hard abdomen. "You're pretty fit for a kid. What are you, a blacksmith?"

As the guard's hands advance Eren's most intimate and sensitive skin, Eren's head becomes heavier and heavier in resignation. His internal flame steadily fades. His mind has left for a shadowy and other place. Is this the fate fit of a monster? Are chains and submission the only future that he has? People fear him. People hate him. And, perhaps, Eren fears and hates himself as much as the rest of the world does. Perhaps Eren doesn't have the will to save himself. Maybe he doesn't deserve a rescue. He is a monster, after all. Freedom is an ideal of his dreams, and dreams…they are only that. He sucks in a shaky breath as his belt is toyed—

A screech of rusted bolts delays the assault.

"For some reason," icily mutters Levi, "this doesn't surprise me."

"Guardsman! I order you to step away from the boy," commands Erwin in absolute.

The guard couldn't have appeared more horrified, eyes bugged so wide Levi expected them to pop out his skull and roll across the floor. Going opossum, panic freezes the guard. He just gapes, openmouthed and struck dumb.

"The door hasn't moved," Levi informs him, in case he believed otherwise. "Or should I show you out?"

The pig gathers enough of his wits to make a getaway, shirking past the hunters. But not without clashing into a livid Hanji.

Before he can escape, she punches him hard across the mouth with a shout, "You vile, degenerate bastard!" The moment he is out the door, she grabs her own wrist, hand still balled in a fist, knuckles cut by the guard's teeth. "AGH! THAT GODDAMN HURT!" She looks at Levi, eyes teary with pain. "Why didn't you tell me punching people hurts?!"

"Only an idiot needs to be told."

Recovery is swift. "Hurry, hurry!" she says, sprinting toward Eren, who looks more like a hanging slab of butcher's meat than a person.

Immediately Hanji takes the lever that will release Eren of his chains, but Levi raises a halting hand. "Wait," he says, "go slow." If he is released too quickly, he will crash to the ground, and Levi doesn't think he can take a stone-floor beating. He looks like he is seconds from crumbling into a mound of disjointed limbs.

Gradually, carefully, Hanji unwinds the gear, loosening the chains. Eren lowers to his knees, unresponsively hunched, his arms limp at his sides. Eren isn't necessarily a kid of remarkable size, but he is by no means small either. However, right now, he looks like a child, small and helpless. Levi knows just how powerful he really is, and to see him this defeated isn't right. Something is very, very wrong about this situation.

"Erwin," mutters Levi, "there's something off about this."

"Indeed. That guardsman is corrupt beyond help. His actions will cost him severely."

"That's not it."

They semicircle Eren, who is still an unresponsive crumple. Levi removes the blindfold and studies the shifter's face. His eyelids are sagged, his usually intense eyes faded and unfocused, and his healthy color is washed out to an ashen shade unnatural of a dragon. "Hey, Four-Eyes. He doesn't look so good."

"Damn…he's been underground for too long," she growls under her breath. "He needs some light. Dawn won't come for another few hours, so he'll have to endure a little longer. Outside air might help."

Having been given the key to Eren's cuffs, Erwin unlocks them, but the metal is embedded in Eren's flesh as if they are a part of him, as if they belong there, as if they will always remain. They have to peel the metal from Eren's arms, mining out bits of obstinate skin with it.

"Hanji, find medical supplies. Levi, take him to the top of the keep. No one will look for him there," Erwin orders them. "I'm going to ensure the perpetrator doesn't get away."

Hanji and Erwin leave to follow through with their obligations, and Levi is left with the comatose dragon shifter. He grasps Eren's forearm, examining his nonexistent wrists. Where they should be is a curling of torn flesh like unfurled parchment revealing a red gushing gap between palm and forearm. A few more jerks and the kid would have lost his hands. What happened? As far as Levi could tell, Eren had given up. He didn't even try to fight the guard's advance at him. So what had been so important to the kid that he almost ripped off his arms prior to that? Nothing about this guy makes sense.

Levi winds one arm beneath Eren's legs and the other around his back, effortlessly lifting him from the floor. Eren is a sack of dead weight, one bloody arm swinging loosely with Levi's smooth strides. Using his back as a prop, Levi pushes open the door and easily maneuvers outside.

The castle is soundless at this time, no bustling servants or strutting nobles. Royalty sleeps soundly. It is either really late or really early depending on how you look at it. Since Levi has yet to catch a wink of sleep, he would consider this a late time in the night, and it looks like Eren would probably concur. His long day has yet to wind down, too.

Levi climbs the stairs that seem never-ending. Eren feels too much like a corpse in his arms, cold, heavy, and unmoving. Levi can feel the life in Eren escaping him like drowning breath or burning ash. Both have an end of clocklike inevitability, and there is no turning back from either. Levi hastens his footwork. He can't stop time, but maybe he can beat it.

He reaches the top of the keep and opens the rounded, wooden door. A draft of night air reaches him and ruffles Eren's hair, crusty with dried sweat. Eren's eyes gently break open, and Levi can feel his own tension ease at that first sign of life.

Stars wink down in spiraling helixes and fleck the black-canvased sky. The moon is a smiling crescent, flawed with splotches but bathing the world in a soft glow that lightly shines on Eren's face. His skin looks healthier, his eyes brighter, and Levi knows he will regain his fire by morning.

Walking to the edge of the open rooftop, Levi stares off at the stretch of boundless night sky. Even Levi, who has traveled far over the map, doesn't know where the sky ends, if it has an end at all. The only way to find the sky's edge would be by chasing the horizon through flight. Levi wonders if Eren knows where the sky ends but doesn't press the question. In Levi's arms, Eren is not dead weight anymore. He is merely relaxed in a cradle, his head rested on Levi's chest.

"Hey, dragon hunter," he murmurs.

"What is it?"

"What's the sky like where you're from?"

"…Who knows."

They are, for a long time, silent as Eren soaks up what he can from the feeble moonlight, drawing some strength, enough to last him till morning.

"Hey, dragon hunter."

"…"

"You have a nice heartbeat."


	4. There's Not Much Difference

Thank you for reading, following, reviewing, and favoriting! Some of the reviews were really adorable last time. When I wrote last chapter, I wasn't expecting a "that's so cute!" reaction. I was, once again, pleasantly surprised! Haha!

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

The leather reins are held lightly in Christa's dainty hands, her slim, girlish fingers delicately curled, enough to grip but not enough to command. She holds her back straight, long tresses of strung gold cascading down her shoulders, curtaining her distinguishable, arched ears—it is the perfect posture of a perfect princess, goddess of the kingdom. Her eyes, forever blue and waiting and longing and lost, are cast in the distance as Christa and Ymir trot through the forest, midday sun beaming lucid, rich green through the canopy of thriving treetops overhead.

Ymir sighs, frowning at her mistress. "Look," she says, a bit too snappy, "Otherworlders are hated. It's a way of life. You can't change what you are."

"My own father hates me."

"He's not your actual father."

"I'm not talking about the king." Christa's hands are looser on the reins, no grasp, like she wants her steed to spirit her far, far away, or perhaps nowhere at all. "My real father, he left me to these people… He hates me."

With no reason to tell, her father, Reiss, left Christa here, to this kingdom, to this king who despises any connection to the Otherworld. And Christa has endured unremitting wrongs for what she is, for the kind of blood that pumps through her veins, blood that, when spilt, looks no different from the blood anyone else spills.

"So what?" says Ymir. "Wallowing in self-pity doesn't change anything."

It isn't in Ymir's nature to pity or take sympathy. She takes the world for what it is and rides it. Anyone believing that there is anything left in this world to pity or sympathize over is either naïve or pathetic. But that wince pulling at Christa's brow makes Ymir wish she could reel back her words, or at least whittle them down into something less cutting. But her words are as sharp as ever, carving out Christa to her vulnerable and damaged core, right where Ymir wants her, because that is the only way Christa will ever survive this unkind world.

"Stop living to please everyone else. There's only one person that you should live for."

"You?" Christa guesses.

Ymir snorts. "I was gonna say you should live for yourself, but you can live for me if you want. I won't complain."

"Live…for myself?"

Ymir searches Christa's empty, wandering eyes. "Yeah," she says. "That's the only thing we can really do. Our lives are all that we have."

Christa ponders that for a two-beat of hooves. "Can we live for ourselves together?"

"Whatever you want, Princess."

"Ymir…" Christa softly, hesitantly calls, "do you follow me around because your bloodline is bound to serve the royal family? Or do you actually…" she trails off.

"Actually like you?" Ymir finishes for her. "I'm your caregiver. It's my job to follow you around." Christa winces again, but Ymir is quick to heal the wounds she has inflicted with her weapon-like words. "But I chose you to be my rider because you're the one person I believe is worth fighting for."

As a closet dragon shifter, Ymir had planned to carry that secret to her grave, or at least expel it only if she found that it would profit her in some way. Never did Ymir imagine that she would take her elven mistress to the side, infuriated by her mechanical kindness and phony self-sacrifice in a pathetic attempt to make people love her despite her Otherworld heritage, and spew the truth about her dragon power. _"You're an elf. I'm a dragon shifter. And we will _never_ belong here," _Ymir had snapped at her._ "Get over it."_

Christa blushes a little. "Why did you choose me?"

"Really? You're gonna ask that?" Ymir's eyes are ahead, expression wiped. "Obviously it's because I have a thing for blondes."

"No, really."

"It's the truth."

"Come on, Ymir."

"Alright, fine. I'll tell you." This time Ymir fixes her stare on Christa, face schooled into a serious, unsmiling mask, deadpanning, "I have a thing for blonde…_girls_."

Christa rolls her eyes. "Stop toying with me."

Ymir cracks a crooked smirk. "But aren't we all just toys and pawns? I mean…we all pretend we're somebody or something else. We wear masks because we're under the influence of the reigning hierarchy or simply the control of the status quo. The general public doesn't accept Otherworlders, so we're forced into hiding. It's just the way it is."

"I don't—I don't get you, Ymir."

Ymir smiles more to herself than at Christa. "Nobody does."

They reach a crystal spring that can be found, though not easily, in the middle of the forest reaching farther than the eye's scope behind the castle's walls. It is a haven for Otherworlders in this human realm, a piece of the Otherworld forgotten from a time when there was a middle ground between the two realms. It is a small, freshwater spring, shores of pure white grain like snow—quiet as such too—filled with crystalline blue water, clear and smooth like a pane of sheeted glass molded to the earth, with dappling light slipping through the treetops refracted beneath the surface in prisms of colors.

The spring paints through the forest like a succumbing dream long sought after and gained at the dire instant in which hope becomes a foreign stranger. The moment Ymir and Christa step onto its shores, the tensions and weights that they bear dispel like they never were, like they never will be again. It calls to Otherworlders like a song that they know but have not yet heard. Still, because it is part of this human realm, rarely do Otherworlders cross its borders, so it acts as private sanctuary for an elf princess and a closet dragon shifter.

Ymir kicks off her boots and buries her bare feet in the white-grain bottom. A sigh tumbles out like a last breath, or maybe the first like Ymir has not truly been breathing until this very moment, and it feels beautiful to breathe. Christa is in the same rapturous state, the hem of her skirts bunched in her hands, ankle-deep in heaven. There is not a sound but it is a silence of harmony, and Ymir doesn't want to disturb it. She does anyway.

"Let me see the mark," she murmurs.

Christa's eyes flutter open, her long lashes kissing the apples of her cheeks, and color flowering her face. "Why? You've seen it a dozen times."

"And I'll want to see it dozens more."

Christa's hands rise to the front of her dress. She undoes the laces, loosening the front, sleeves sliding from her shoulders, to reveal a small, flesh insignia on the left side of her chest below her shoulder. It is an elaborate design of an abstract dragon's eye swirling her skin as if a paintbrush has manipulated her flesh there.

"Do you know why I like seeing the mark?" Ymir asks, eyes never leaving the symbol. Christa shakes her head. "It's proof that you're my rider—that I chose you."

"You need proof?"

"Not really." It is more than proof. It is a promise, a bond that connects their beings, their souls, everything that they are. It is a link. With it, they are a pair, able to communicate through thought, able to bear each other's pain, able to trust and be trusted. Christa is Ymir's other half, and Ymir is Christa's missing piece. They are two but one, dragon and rider.

"The hunters said only someone stronger than a dragon can be its rider," says Christa. "That doesn't make sense. I'm not in any way stronger than you."

"That four-eyes was only half right. If a man wants to take a dragon against its will, he must be stronger mentally or the dragon will never yield to his command," Ymir explains. "But I _chose_ you to be my rider, so it didn't matter that you were weaker. I submit to you because I want to."

"What will happen if a dragon is claimed against his will?"

"You mean what's gonna happen to Eren."

Biting her lip, Christa waits.

Ymir exhales and focuses on the serene surface of the Otherworld spring. "A rider who wasn't chosen won't be marked. There won't be any connection other than keeper and slave. Eren will be nothing but a puppet."

"That's…terrible."

Ymir shrugs indifferently. "Those hunters were crafty. They knew exactly what to say to appeal to the king. The king's dislike for Otherworlders is notorious. That's why they didn't mention shifters having the ability to choose their riders. Choosing a rider is an exercise of freewill, and that's exactly what the king _doesn't_ want. He believes humankind should be at the top and Otherworlders should bow at their feet."

Whether or not that will happen, Ymir doesn't know, but it seems to Ymir that humans have the upper hand thus far. "The hunters only told him the part of the story that he wanted to hear." Snippets of the trial replay in Ymir's head. "And I want to know what's in that book."

The way that four-eyes was quick to stifle any questions concerning how the book landed in the hunters' possession piqued Ymir's interest. It made Ymir wonder the real reason those hunters are here. Why would a squadron of hunters tote around the lone record of the Otherworld? Did they come solely to eliminate dragons attacking the kingdom? Or do they have another objective?

Sticking her hand into the water, Ymir picks up a smooth, pearly pebble and examines it as if it were a puzzle piece that could answer the questions gnawing her mind. "The question now is what do they plan to do next? Are they going to let Eren be enslaved?"

"They would do that?"

"I doubt it." Ymir squeezes the stone, then winds back her arm to skip it across the water's surface. It jumps four times before losing momentum and plopping to the sandy bottom. "If I had to guess, I'd say they're betting no one will be able to handle that idiot. He's not exactly an obedient guy."

"But…if Eren doesn't find a rider, he'll be exiled."

"Maybe that's what the hunters want. If Eren is exiled, he'll be up for the taking."

Christa sighs. "There's too much scheming for me. I don't like it."

That makes Ymir laugh out loud. "Come on, Christa. Just sit back and enjoy the show. I think it's all pretty entertaining."

"Is that what you do, Ymir? Just sit back and watch everyone else like a fly on the wall?"

"Fly-on-the-wall observation is my specialty."

Christa shakes her head. "I really don't get you…"

Ymir offers a soft smile that she only shows Christa. "I don't get you, either."

* * *

The castle's gates have been opened, and in the outer courtyard a spectating audience has amassed around a marked ring in the lawn, a dueling ring. And observing from an elevated perspective from the top of the wall is the king, knuckles idly pressed to the side of his face, a half-smile in his clipped, white beard.

The knights, without chainmail or armor, garbed simply in their uniforms with the kingdom's emblem stitched in the back—the head of a unicorn in forest green—wait eagerly, swords in hand, for the tournament to begin.

"That's _him?_" scoffs Jean watching near the front of the mass. "_That's_ the guy?"

An unimpressive boy about Jean's age, fifteen or so, is crouched at the front of the ring, hands cuffed behind him and a blindfold tied around his head, knotted in his thick, tangled, sweat-clumped, brown hair. He wears a rundown tunic and faded, reed trousers, the bottoms eaten by days of labor, unraveled thread hanging down his ankles, and, to Jean's disgust, he marches about bare-foot, the soles of his feet crusted with a hard layer of dirt and filth and whatever else peasants like to roll themselves in.

"Yeah, he's the dragon shifter," Marco tells him, not quite catching the contempt in Jean's tone. "The kingdom's entire brigade of knights are skirmishing each other for him."

"Why would they want a moron like him?"

The blindfolded dragon shifter suddenly snaps his head in Jean's direction as if he knows Jean is talking about him. Jean staggers, then curses himself. The hell is he doing? That moron doesn't scare him. "Bet he's pathetic, too. He's half dragon, which equals half-competence. No wonder he got himself imprisoned. He's a halfwit."

"Hey, jackass!" the dragon shifter shouts. "I can hear you!"

Jean leans closer to Marco, pitching his voice beneath his breath. "It's almost like he's talking to me."

"'Cause I _am_ talking to you! Why don't you come over here, and I'll show you who's a halfwit!"

Jean clicks his tongue and gives a proud, unapologetic, "Sorry, I don't mingle with peasants."

"Oh, so you're an upper-class prick. Makes sense."

"Watch yourself, Otherworlder."

"You're lucky I'm blindfolded, or I'd fry your ass."

_Oh, this guy!_ Jean clenches his fists, wanting to sling one right across that dragon freak's face. He opens his mouth to spit a series of explicit profanities, but he is cut short.

"Don't you know not to provoke a dragon? He might not be the brightest, but his power is nothing to temper."

Jean's jaw hangs loose, too awestruck to be shut. A girl, with hair blacker than the rarest ebony wood, eyes dark, incomprehensible and mysterious like a moonless, starless, stormy night, and skin fairer than the finest, untouched porcelain of the king's most delicate, exquisite china has just spoken to Jean. Jean's tongue fails him, and try as he might, he cannot work that damn thing.

But Marco's tongue is working fine. "You know him?"

"He's our friend," says a blonde kid, who is much too pretty to be a regular, human boy. He is most definitely another Otherworlder.

"You're friends with Otherworlders?" Jean asks the black-haired beauty, trying to stretch a smile but faring a pinched, uneven grimace.

She blinks. "I'm an Otherworlder."

For the second time, Jean's tongue malfunctions. He thinks about this situation longer, then it makes complete sense. "Of course you are," he mumbles too low for her to hear. Fate has a really warped sense of humor, doesn't he? Jean bets fate is really enjoying himself right now—that bastard.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!" says a plump man wrapped in brilliant violet, and a matching, oversize beret with a long feather tucked at the side. He stands at the front of the ring, beside the dragon shifter, facing the crowd.

"Today is a day making history. One knight will fight and rise above the rest to claim a power that no man of this generation has ever known—a supernatural power from the Otherworld, _dragon_ power," he projects. "The winner of today's tournament will be dubbed the strongest man"—the announcer theatrically swoops an arm at Eren as if revealing a priceless, veiled treasure—"and _dragon rider!_"

"That's no dragon," an obviously intelligent man says from the back. "That's a boy."

The announcer flashes a winning grin. "Why yes, but he's no ordinary boy." He takes Eren by the hair, forcing his face at the crowd so they can get a good look at him. "Eren Jaeger, a boy living amongst us with the power to destroy us all—a boy to our faces, and a dragon when we're not looking. He is a dragon shifter, the rarest type of Otherworlder."

"That's not true," Armin whispers to Mikasa. "You're the rarest…" Dragon shifters may have gone out of fashion, but they are not of the scarcest mystic species. Mikasa is the true gem.

"He isn't a threat as long as his dragon eyes are hindered," the announcer carries on. "One knight, and one knight alone, will be strong enough to keep the dragon power at bay." The announcer makes a triumphant fist. "He will make this boy our ultimate boon."

"Tch!" It takes all of Mikasa's willpower not to knock the announcer upside the head. Eren isn't an object or a weapon. He is a person.

The announcer directs his attention on the dragon hunters gathered at the side of the ring. "If he does get out of hand, the hunter squadron, here, has kindly offered to strike him down. So don't be afraid. You are perfectly safe under their protection."

Their leader, a tall, broad-shouldered, blonde man is at the front, thoughtfully observing their surroundings. His right hand man, the legendary Captain Levi, is at his side, weaponless, as if the shifter is either guaranteed to remain a non-threat, or the hunter was too lazy to bother with his gear, letting the other hunters—who are fully armed and ready to interfere in the scenario Eren goes rogue—fulfill this task.

"That being said let the tournament begin!"

The tournament shows no contest. Each duel lasts a maximum of three moves. A knight named Sanes, with protuberant, anxious eyes, finishes off the other knights like grazing through grass fields, easily, effortlessly as if the other knights are willingly bending over for him. He prunes their numbers, until there is a single knight left, a female one.

"A female knight? They allow that?" Jean whispers to Marco.

"Why not? She must be strong."

"You kidding? She looks like she's half-awake."

This female knight's ice-blue eyes are glassy, dead like fish eyes. She has a lethargic, bored demeanor as if this world is an infinite gray. Color doesn't exist, at least, not in her world; it is a forever-gray haze.

Sanes hoists his sword, and the female does the same. Then the duel initiates. Sanes leaps, swinging. The female, in a fluid, reflexive move, skirts to the side, kicks up her leg, and thrusts her boot at Sanes' shins. Gravity works against him. He falls graceless and gauche, thumping heavily on the ground. Overturned like a tipped carriage, he is a crumple, knees straddling his own head, feet skyward. Between his knees, he shares a look with the female, eyes wider, more anxious than ever.

She doesn't blink. She doesn't move. She stares, eyes partly lidded like she is bestriding a boundary between being awake and slumbering. Then her eyes fall shut, and for a moment, Jean wonders if she has actually fallen asleep standing upright. They open again halfway. Then she drops her sword, forfeiting the duel, and turns her back on her beaten opponent. "You win." Renouncing victory and glory, she wearily ambles back to the sidelines.

"The hell was that?" Jean sounds more irritated than confused.

"I guess she doesn't want to be dragon rider," says Marco.

"She's got a bad attitude—that's what it is."

Sanes, having already clambered to his feet, is puffed-up even though he lost to a girl half his size in less than two seconds, and faces the ring-front where Eren is kneeled. "Release him," he says. "I'll ride him."

The announcer unlocks Eren's cuffs. They fall to the ground, and the crowd takes a collective step the other way as if a beast has been freed. Rubbing at his sore wrists, Eren rises to his feet. He curls a finger under the blindfold and throws it off, revealing a not-so-compliant glower, eyes smoldering.

"If you think for a second," he growls, "that I'll let someone like you ride me, you're a bigger idiot than"—he points at Jean—"that upper-class asshole over there."

Jean doesn't grace that with a response, waiting for Sanes' response instead. A vein at Sanes' temple bulges as anger takes him. "I won, dragon shifter."

"Did you?" demands Eren. "Or were the other knights paid off? Maybe it was blackmail. I didn't have to watch to know this wasn't fair game." There is no way this knight could have won so quickly. Eren looks up at the king, but he has no care in the world that he was cheated. Could it be that the king played a role in this too? Did he want this particular man to claim Eren and be delegated dragon rider?

"How I won doesn't matter," says Sanes. "I'm dragon rider and I order you to change."

"I don't think so."

"Change!"

Eren holds firm. "I said no."

_'No'_ must be a word of magic. Once Eren says it, people take immediate action. It is a chain effect. Knights tense and prepare their swords and archers flinch for arrows. A guardsman camouflaged in the crowd catches Mikasa in a headlock, while another has a dagger on her throat. She wrestles the thickly muscled arm around her, but the dagger is pressed harder, a convincing statement to be still.

"Hey! Let her go!" Jean shouts at the moment Eren snarls, "Leave her out of this!"

White light bursts in a shimmering brilliance, then a towering dragon appears from the glow, lips peeled back, flaunting finger-length fangs.

People cry out and double back in fear. Sanes steps forward, sword raised. "Submit to me," he commands. To which Eren responds with a defiant, rumbling growl. "Have it your way."

The world in the form of a man comes at Eren. He is one man but he is every man, because it is not only this man that hates Eren. It is humanity. Sanes weaves his blade. It gleams, salivating for Eren's flesh like a famished beast. And Eren will have to fight if he wants to avoid being eaten. But he knows the fear and the hate will only grow with his struggle. If Eren fights back, if he hurts anyone, he will only frighten people more. After this, Eren will be perpetually seen as a monster. There is no going back. This is it. This is the deciding moment. What will Eren choose to be? Human or beast? Will he submit, or will he fight?

The looming edge of the sword closes in on Eren, and Eren makes his choice. He swats Sanes aside like a pest. He goes soaring. Then comes a war of the worlds—the Otherworld vs. humanity. Every knight, now wired with fear and fury, charge Eren. He knocks a few down, some with his tail, others with his forefeet. Scrambling, straggling, they swarm him again the way agitated bees endlessly swarm. Eren is surrounded. No way out. No escape. Freedom is nowhere in sight.

Some scale his back, clawing at his sides, climbing, scratching, scratching deeper. Eren bucks them off. They get back up and straggle and scratch some more. Archers nock their arrows, the spearheads aimed to handicap, not kill. Arrows fly, whistling through the air, and spike into Eren's legs and chest and shoulders. Now, Eren is angry. Fire kindles his core and he roars the way a volcano finally erupts after years and years of mounding pressure, shaking the air, quaking the earth.

Sanes has returned and rushes, his sword hungry to impale Eren's neck. He goes for a stab, and Eren braces himself for a final blow that will thieve his freedom. Sailing the seas will be no more. Eren will deign the fate of servitude. This is his last moment as a free man.

But the last strike doesn't come. _Chink!_ Another sword parries the blow, sparks dancing from clashing metal. A man clothed in smoky, charcoal dragon pelts, and cloaked in dim shadow holds a borrowed sword engraved with the king's emblem at the hilt, fending off the knight. The relief Eren feels by the presence of a dragon hunter is absurd, but the absurdity of a dragon hunter protecting a dragon is even more so.

Bewildered, Eren gawks at the hunter. He moves _fast_, like a dark blur, and disarms Sanes, sending his unfortunate sword skidding across the cemented square. Then Levi tosses his own sword to the side, using his bare fists to send knights tumbling into the crowd. It seems he only brushes his knuckles or taps his boots against their chests, then the knights are airborne as if suddenly blessed the ability to fly.

One-by-one, or occasionally two at a time, the knights ring-out, stumbling outside the boundaries of the makeshift arena. Like a shadow, untouchable and unreadable, but solid like a wall, Levi blocks knights from attacking and climbing on Eren. He extracts an arrow nailed in Eren's shoulder and hurls it. It shoots as if released from a bow and smashes an archer's strung arrow, knocking it loose. Unsettled by the hunter's astounding accuracy and precision, the other archers lower their bows and knights nervously fall back. Singlehandedly, Levi has cleared the ring.

A blend of astonishment and unease daze and mute the spectating crowd. And Eren reverts to his human form, staring, awestruck, at the back of the hunter's head. The hunter does not look at Eren or even acknowledge Eren as he starts to the other end of the ring.

_Click… Click… Click…_ The hunter's leisurely footsteps sound like a phantom approaching, unearthly and hair-raising. He draws, not demands, the focus of the entire kingdom, carrying himself slow and stoic, cloak rippling behind him in a wispy, shadowy trail. Levi approaches Sanes who is cowered at the edge of the ring, wheezing.

Sanes' grimace is accusatory. "What's the meaning of this, dragon hunter?" he asks, voice too small for such big words. "You're out of your place. You kill monsters, not defend them."

Levi comes to a standstill just in front of him, his chin tilted down. "Tell me something," he says. "When I look around, do you know what I see?" His hand extends in Mikasa's direction, gaze on Sanes. "I see a girl with a dagger to her throat,"— his hand shifts to Eren—"and a bunch of pigs trying to jump the back of a kid." Then he seizes the collar of Sanes' uniform, roughly pulling him forward so their faces are level. "So tell me," he coolly mutters, "who's the real monster? Because I'm not sure I know the answer."

Sanes' head pitifully wobbles on his shoulders, the hunter's colorless, impenetrable stare having chased his strength and sense right out of him. When there is no reply, Levi releases the knight and steps away, turning a stony shoulder. He looks at no one. Perhaps he speaks to no one, too. "Being human and being a monster," he quietly says, "in my opinion, there's not much difference."

Having nothing more to say, he treads with ghostly, clicking heels to the other hunters, his dark cloak following.

"Dragon hunter," calls Eren.

Levi pauses and turns over his shoulder.

"Did you mean that?" Eren asks him. "Is that what you truly believe?"

"I wouldn't lie about that."

Tightening his hands, Eren takes a purposeful step and clears his throat. He speaks distinctly and decisively. "Will you be my rider?" There are audible gasps of surprise in the crowd and they all look at Levi expectantly, awaiting his answer blind. But Eren sees the answer clearly. There is only one answer the dragon hunter would give.

Levi looks at Eren a moment more before flicking his eyes beyond the hunters. "No," he says. No hesitation. No consideration. No explanation—just a flat, brusque no. Then he and the rest of the hunter squadron exit the premises, leaving behind an ambiance of mystery, wonder, and speculation. Even after they are long gone, their mystery remains, and so does the captivated crowd, heatedly whispering and gossiping.

The answer was no, Eren was aware of that—and that is why it has to be him. The dragon hunter isn't looking for power or strength or glory. He is different from the knights. And he is the only person Eren will allow to be his rider. He is the only person Eren wants as his rider. He is the one that Eren chooses.

* * *

I apologize if you don't care to read about Ymir and Christa. I probably should have put them as other main characters of this story in the description. But even if you don't care for Ymir or Christa, they play an important role in explaining what it means to be a dragon/dragon rider pair. That way it won't be as confusing when Levi and Eren reach that point. You'll already know a little about the link.


	5. Be My Rider, Please

This chapter is long. Most chapters won't be this long.

Thank you for reading!

Also, there is some dragon gore in this chapter.

* * *

The hunters have been given room and board in the guesthouse on the outskirts of the outer ward. It is clean, to Levi's satisfaction, and close enough to the outer gate to make haste at a moment's notice, which is useful for two reasons. One: if a dragon strikes when they are behind the gates, they can quickly set foot to taking it down. Two: once they fulfill their ulterior mission, they can make a clandestine retreat and avoid any pursuers.

The guesthouse is large enough for them to each have their own bed, except for Petra and Hanji, who ended up having to share. Levi sits on the edge of his bed, wiping down the first-ever weapon he acquired long ago. It is a modest dagger, unadorned and practical. The blade glints with an orange glow coming from the low burning fireplace as if retelling the memory of the many villages Levi has witnessed gone up in mortal flame. He watches the sparks flicker while rubbing the cloth up and down the metal with painstaking precision, fixedly, distractedly—half his mind intent and half his mind adrift.

"I can't believe you said no!" Hanji exclaims again. She has been repeating that same line since dawn peeked above the horizon, and Levi is beginning to wonder if he should fasten her mouth shut. In the center of the room, she is shaking her head and furiously paging through the massive Otherbook sitting on the humble dining table—it takes up a third of the tabletop. Lit candlesticks are positioned to shine on the print, but they cast as much light as they do eerie shadow in this murky room, so Hanji has to squint. "Why would you say no? He chose you out of everyone else! Aren't you flattered?"

Levi continues to wipe his blade. "Not really."

"So why _did_ you say no?"

Levi exhales and pauses his cleaning. "Read the dragon rider description to me."

"Sure, sure." She thumbs the pages, then settles on one, her pointer finger following the lines. "A dragon rider is usually someone of remarkable strength both physically and mentally," she reads. "In order for a rider to claim his dragon, he must overcome the dragon in a duel. If a dragon still refuses to submit, the potential rider can look it in the eye and make him submit through force."

A rerun of Levi's own words cycle through his head. _"To establish control," _he had said to that pervert guard, _"you have to look him in the eye." _And Levi had looked directly into Eren's intense eyes. Levi had no fear or uncertainty. He had a single thought about Eren: this kid was strong. And Levi felt that he could place all his bets on him. But if Levi had looked a moment longer, would Eren have been susceptible to his control? Does that mean Levi rightly fits the dragon rider description…?

"Once the dragon is claimed," Hanji goes on, "a pact is made and the rider has absolute control; this power is a mental connection that the rider has with the dragon in which the dragon must carry out the rider's every command. It is unconditional."

"Stop." Levi stares at his dagger, his own eyes staring back at him in the pristinely polished blade. "That's enough." Even if Levi is the epitome of dragon rider standards, in no way is that a role he wants to play. Things like "absolute control" and "no other choice but to obey_" _are more than unappealing to Levi. He abhors the idea of unconditional obedience. Trust is meant to be a choice, not a precondition.

That kid should have felt the same. So why would he ask Levi to be his rider? Isn't exile better than being caged? He might as well have asked for shackles and a leash for the rest of his life, and Levi doesn't want to be the one shackling him. Frowning at his dagger, Levi delicately traces the length of the blade. That kid…just how hollow is his head?

"But Levi, Eren chose you, so it isn't the same."

Levi's fingers stop at the sharp tip. "What are you on about?"

"The description continues. There's more to it," she tells him. "When a dragon chooses a rider, a mark will then appear on the rider in a place of the dragon's preference." All of her front teeth are visible in an impish grin. "I wonder where he'll choose."

"A mark? Like a brand?" Levi finds that odd. If the rider is in control, why would the rider be branded and not the dragon? Slave-masters brand their slaves. Levi has never heard of a case where the opposite were true.

"It doesn't say much about the mark, just that it appears when both the dragon and rider agree to a pact." She toys with her glasses and keeps reading. "Because the dragon has chosen the rider, the connection is personal, intimate even, and, unless the dragon wants out, the connection is virtually unbreakable."

"He has the choice to leave?"

"It seems that's the case when the dragon isn't forced into servitude. If a dragon chooses the rider and not vice versa, the dragon is, of its own freewill, yielding to the rider. It's very different."

Levi resumes his cleaning, feeling somehow consoled. "He won't be caged, then."

"I'm not sure what it means exactly. It's a little ambiguous. I think it can be interpreted in more than one way," says Hanji. "I have a few ideas, but the only way to know for sure is to experience what it's like to be a rider yourself, wouldn't you say?" She throws him a disarming grin and waggling brows, and Levi sees right through her clever maneuvering. He isn't fooled.

"No," he mutters. "I'm not convinced it's a good idea."

"Really? Why?"

He meets his own mirrored eyes in the sheen of his dagger. "It's a gut feeling I have." That time Levi tried to ride Eren, he had torn up Eren's neck pretty badly—badly enough that Eren's scales singed black. The mystic girl was right. People shouldn't ride dragons, least of all dragon slayers.

"A gut feeling, you say? You have sharp instincts," she grants him, "but if you ask me, I think you're reluctant to take on another burden." Hanji flips through the book to the part where pages have been torn out, running her fingers over the uneven leftover binding indicating its loss.

"You can't look the squadron in the eye when they salute you," she murmurs. "We've been banded for years, and still you look away like you did that first day. What was it that you said to Petra when she wanted to join our little squad?"

Hanji thinks back, years ago, to a time when their squad had consisted of just Erwin, Levi, and herself. They had been passing through a kingdom in the west, and four hunters, new to the gig, had come up to them wishing to join. Petra, who they discerned as part faerie, had saluted Levi in particular.

_"Please accept me,"_ she said to him. And Levi glanced away, appearing unexpectedly weary and withered, and Hanji thought it strange at the time. The heavy, inexplicable baggage under his eyes darkened, appearing bruise-like and abysmal as if his body had never known the matter of sleep, and his solemn frown deepened_. "If you knew that you'd die," _he had said to her,_ "would it be a choice with no regrets?"_

Petra is with them now, so her answer is self-evident. They all live their lives with no regrets: that is their motto. Their choices are their own.

When Levi doesn't respond, Hanji turns around to look at him. He is at the rim of the firelight, closer to the outside of the glow than the inside. Shadows reach for him like they are drawn in, like they desire him—they grope at his face and his arms and his chest as if alive, blanketing blackness over his downcast eyes like a mask. Hanji closes the book with a heavy _thump!, _whipping out a grin.

"Anyway, we've got another task afoot. We've still gotta find the Otherstone."

* * *

There is something off about this castle, Armin has determined. For a king who despises anything of the Otherworld, this castle is rife with a palpable inhuman aura. Armin can feel it. He can hear it. He can't see it, but he knows it is here. It pulsates like a heartbeat. _Thump-thump, thump-thump. _

The king didn't want anyone who had an affiliation with Eren out of his sight. Both Armin and Mikasa were requested—demanded, more accurately—to stay in guest rooms in the west wing of the castle, near the princess' bedchamber.

Mikasa is somewhere in the castle, probably with Eren, against the king's instruction. Armin and Mikasa were forbidden to see him, but they have been reassured that in no way is Eren being maltreated. Neither Armin nor Mikasa believe this, and Mikasa has more than likely gone to check on him.

Armin, on the other hand, has decided to follow that Otherworld heartbeat through the castle. Being an elf, his senses are overly sensitive to any kind of Otherworld source, whether it is a power source, a creature, or a once-was fossil of the Otherworld. His senses are keen, most times faultless, except with shifters. Armin doesn't understand why Eren never triggers his Otherworld radar. Whenever Eren is in his human form, he smells human, feels human. There is no way for Armin to peg him as an Otherworlder.

When Eren shifts to his dragon form, however, the Otherworld sensation is stronger than if an opening leading directly to the Otherworld had suddenly fissured in the earth like a door. Shifters have the ability to completely mask their Otherworld nature—which is a scary thought for Armin, because there are three more shifters, much less noble than Eren, invisible to him.

That is why Armin hunts after that misplaced Otherworld aura floating about these castle halls. He crosses to the opposite East wing. The castle is alive with bustling servants and guards, too occupied in their duties to pay mind to a wandering elf. The Otherworld sensation grows stronger, the _thump-thump_ louder, as the extending hall leads him on. It is like trying to find the origin of a cool draft. Armin closes his eyes, concentrating on the differences in temperature and currents in the stagnant air around him. A whisper of cooler air comes from Armin's right.

He turns to a shut door where the Otherworld current is leaking from the cracks around and beneath the wooden frame. Armin winds his fingers around the handle and pushes. It trembles but doesn't budge. He pushes harder—it creaks in protest. He rolls the sleeves of his tunic to his elbows. Then, after making sure that there are no witnesses, he throws his shoulder against the wood, his entire weight behind it. The door flies open with a surrendering _whack!_

Armin rubs his throbbing shoulder, wincing. The room is dark. Even with Armin's elf sight, he can't see where he is or what sort of room he has just broken into—but he feels the overwhelming sense of the Otherworld. There is more than one pulsation. There are twenty, thirty Otherworld pulses. Near the door's frame, there is a torch mounted on the wall. He slides it from its rusted, metal holder and borrows flame from a pre-lit torch fixed in the outside hall to bring to life the one in his hand. It kindles enough luminosity for Armin to discern what the room's contents are. What he sees isn't what he expected. He isn't sure what he expected to begin with, but it definitely wasn't this.

Otherworld artifacts and relics are showcased in glass display cases systematically placed in the room like a museum. Shelves are filled from top to bottom with Otherworld books, enough to fill an entire library—everything that Armin could ever imagine; everything that Armin has spent his entire life searching for lies in this room. The answers to the questions that he has always had: what happened to the Otherworld? Why has it shut its doors to the Otherworlders that chose to live in the human realm? And why do humans hate their kind?—the answers could be buried somewhere in this room, waiting to be unearthed. Armin's footsteps ring out as he walks down the stretch of display cases. He pauses at a particular one.

He bends his knees, peering through the glass, the torch propped near the glass' face. In the orange flicker, there is a label that reads, _The Otherstone. _Cradled by a maroon, fleece cloth above the label is an oval-shaped stone small enough to fit in the palm of Armin's hand and dark violet in color like a deep-tissue bruise taken out of flesh and compressed into rock. Of the artifacts in this room, this is the only one that gives off no Otherworld pulsations. It looks and feels like a normal stone—an ugly one, as if it had once been alive and is now a rotted carcass of what it used to be.

What is the Otherstone? What does it do? What does it mean? And how can something that is nonliving like stone appear as if it has died?

"What are you doing?"

Armin whirls around, looking and feeling like an ambushed deer. He raises his hands defensively—_don't shoot! _Then he recognizes the person that has caught him snooping. Petite, blonde hair loosely pulled back, and dead eyes— "You're the knight that forfeited."

Standing in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest, is the female knight. Her bleary eyes liven enough to focus on Armin. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Why'd you do it?"

"It was rigged."

"That's not what I meant. You were the only one who actually knocked that knight down," he recalls. "It was like you were showing everyone the whole thing was fixed. Did you want other people to see the truth without being penalized for it?"

The female knight's indolent demeanor falters as she stares at Armin in surprise. Then she tucks loose hair behind her ear and averts her gaze. "I just didn't feel like losing."

"Well, I thought it was admirable of you. It takes a lot of courage to stand up to the king like that."

"…You're wrong," she mutters. "I told you, I don't like losing, even if someone orders me to."

"I see…" but Armin isn't fully convinced.

"I won't tell anyone you were back here. If the king knew, he'd have your elf head."

Armin sweats at the thought, his hand unconsciously brushing at his intact neck. "Right… Thank you."

After taking the torch from Armin, the knight smothers the flame. The room goes dark, and Armin shivers at the abrupt absence of light. He may be fifteen years old, but the dark is still frightening. She holds the door open for him, and he exits but doesn't leave right away.

"What's your name?" he asks her.

Her arms are crossed, and her artic blue eyes are not dead. "Annie."

"Annie," echoes Armin, liking the way her name sounds. "Thank you, Annie." Then he goes to leave.

"If you wanna keep your hide," Annie says from behind him, having not moved from the door, "you won't ask questions."

Armin twists around to look at her. "People who don't ask questions," he replies, "are the ones who will lose in the end."

Annie doesn't blink, then her eyes lower, a low-key smile, the hint of a smile twitching her mouth. "You've got guts…"

* * *

People don't understand Ymir. She isn't an easy person to understand because she doesn't let people understand. If they understand, then they know, and Ymir doesn't want them to know. Knowing is hazardous. What do people do with new knowledge? They use it to kill, or they use it for themselves. Neither profit Ymir.

Ymir passes pillar after pillar supporting majestic, golden arches overhead. The red-carpeted floor mutes her footsteps as she makes her way to the kitchen where she knows she will find the person she is looking for.

This particular servant is always slacking on her duties to steal from the king's kitchen. She has been warned to steer clear of the kitchen when lunch and dinner are not being served, but this servant has not fully grasped that warning. So when Ymir reaches the busy room where boiling pots hang over crackling fires, and raw dough is kneaded, rolled, and flattened, and herbs and vegetables are cleaned and cut, she finds the servant surreptitiously stuffing a freshly baked bread loaf into her mouth behind the cooks' unseeing backs.

Ymir's movements are stealthier than she intends. When she takes Sasha's unsuspecting shoulder, she jumps with a startled squeak. Ymir can hear her heart drumming wildly in her chest. Sasha is undoubtedly thinking the worst of this situation—a guardsman has caught her again. But when Sasha turns her head and sees that it is Ymir, her pulse quickens another twofold—this is much scarier.

"What're you doing?" asks Ymir, dropping her voice directly in Sasha's ear.

Sasha's shoulder is stiff under Ymir's hand. "I'm not stealing, if that's what you're thinking." She doesn't look at Ymir, which can only mean that she is lying.

"Looks like I've caught you shorting your duties once again." Ymir's voice is velvet.

Sasha swallows. "N-No. I was gonna give it back."

"After taking a bite? That's unsanitary." Ymir takes a step away, allowing Sasha some personal space. "I don't care if you're stealing food from the king. He's got enough scraps to feed the whole kingdom."

"You're not gonna tell?"

"We're not children."

Sasha gobbles the rest of the roll. "So what'd you want?" Her cheek is bulged with a ball of bread.

"Step outside the kitchen with me." Whether Sasha wants to step outside with Ymir or not, Ymir's arm doesn't give her a choice; it is around Sasha's shoulders, directing her to the door.

The kitchen's door swings shut behind them, and they walk farther down the hall. They turn a corner, out of sight and hearing range, then Ymir resorts again to the velvety appeal that she has perfected over the years.

"Remember when Christa and I bailed you out of punishment for stealing from the king's kitchen?"

A guard had been dragging Sasha by the hair out of the kitchen, cursing and hissing threats. Sasha didn't care that her hair was being wrenched from her scalp, but no one could wrench the potato that she had packed in her mouth loose. Christa stepped in, ordering the guard to release Sasha. The guard did so grudgingly and returned to his duties, but before he had passed through the double doors, he muttered something foul about elves. Sasha hadn't heard the comment, but Ymir and Christa couldn't have missed it with their exceptional hearing. A hurt look had passed over Christa's face, and Ymir slug the guard across his mouth. After that the guard had no more elf commentaries.

Sasha nervously laughs. "Y-Yes, right. You guys really saved me. Hehehe."

"Well, you know," murmurs Ymir, glimpsing through the screen of her eyelashes at Sasha, "the right thing to do now would be to pay us back." Sasha smells like bread and human. Humans don't have a terrible scent, but it is nothing like Christa's calming lavender one.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

The corner of Ymir's mouth pulls up a tad. "There is, actually. Thanks for offering." She releases Sasha's shoulders, and Sasha visibly relaxes. "I need you to keep an eye on the dragon hunters."

"You want me to spy?! Isn't that treason?"

"That's an unpleasant way of looking at it. I was thinking more along the lines of quietly observing them." Sasha is less than willing to agree, and it shows on her face. "If they suspect you, the blame will be on me. It'll be a problem for me too if you get caught, so don't worry. I'm good at interfering when I need to."

"Do I have to?"

"I suppose not." Ymir shrugs. "But if you don't, I'll tell the guards you've been taking their sweet rolls when they're not looking. It's your choice."

"What? No, I haven't!" But her too-quick objection says it is the truth.

"Update me sundown tomorrow." Ymir smells lavender and spins around as Christa rounds the corner.

She looks surprised and confused at the same time. "Ymir? What's going on?"

Ymir pulls Sasha under her arm again, close, while fashioning her best grin and ruffling Sasha's ponytail. "Oh, you know how I love Sachie, here."

"U-Um…my name's Sasha."

"Whatever."

Christa smiles warmly at Sasha. "If you want, I think the king's chefs are baking gingerbread. You should have some." But Sasha was gone the second Christa mentioned gingerbread.

"You shouldn't have told her that," Ymir says. "There'll be none left for everyone else."

Ymir and Christa walk with no destination in mind, and Ymir counts the pillars that pass, patiently waiting for Christa to say what it is she wants to say. _One, two, three… _The girl has a cowardly tongue. She has to coax her words out, at times failing midway, and they withdraw back inside her mouth mid-thought.

Ymir reaches pillar twenty-three when Christa has built enough pluck to speak. "Ymir," she says. "I can tell when you're hiding something from me."

It is like trying to recall a memory from early childhood. Christa knows that the picture is there. She can feel it in the back of her head, but no matter how far back Christa pushes her mind, it goes in circles around the memory. She gets nowhere. That is what it is like when Christa tries to access the link between her mind and Ymir's mind when Ymir is deliberately shutting her out. Christa pushes against the blockage; it feels like a dark, dome-shaped wall. Every time she pushes though, her mind circles back to her own thoughts. She has arrived at nowhere.

"Are you using Sasha for something?" Christa asks, knowing that she won't be able to access Ymir's mind through their dragon rider link.

"What makes you say that?" But the question is enigmatic. Christa knows that Ymir is trying to lead their conversation in circles too, hoping to land her nowhere.

"You're only nice to people when you want something from them," Christa points out.

Ymir snickers. "Touché." She folds her arms behind her head as they stroll, her long fingers fastening together over her short, dark hair clasped at the nape of her neck. "You know me too well."

Christa shakes her head in disagreement. "No. Not well enough."

Ymir is quiet for a minute. "Same goes for you."

* * *

Levi contemplates the weapons spread from end to end on the worktable. Choosing which weapons to wield and which ones to leave behind takes strategic reflection. If he carries too many, he will be weighed down but being caught unprepared is worse. His crossbow is a given. One long-range weapon is essential when fighting dragons. What else does he have to choose from? Grapple hooks, his twin swords, his dagger, a hookshot, a regular bow, a supply of arrows, and a rope of chain.

A dagger is not usually worthwhile. It had done well by Levi when he was trapped on the female dragon's back—it delayed his fall by acting as a foot-grip—but the chance of that happening again is slim. It is small and light weight though, so he slips it inside the holster at his lower back anyway. Should he choose one sword or take them both? One sword is sufficient when dealing with an ordinary fire-breathing dragon. But the dragons here aren't ordinary dragons. They are shifters, with the ability to strategize and use their brains, plus the ability to hide in a flash of light.

He takes one sword and studies the faintly glowing emerald dragon eye implanted in the hilt. Eren's eyes are similar. They are rich and brilliant like this eye, but in someway more humane. The way Levi sees it, a monster doesn't question what he is; he doesn't ask himself whether he is good or bad. A monster is a monster. But Eren showed doubt, which makes Eren more human than most of the nuisances Levi has had the displeasure of knowing.

Erwin walks in and joins Levi's weapon-spread contemplation. It is comfortably silent while they consider their options. Deciding to make-do with a single sword, Levi slides the one in his hand into his leather scabbard, then reties the worn laces securely to his waist.

Erwin selects a piece of metal armor and straps the guard to his forearm. It fits in place with a satisfying _click_. They don't look at each other, as Erwin is thoughtfully studying the weapons, and Levi is rapt in tying his laces.

"I want you to accept Eren's offer," Erwin says.

"That's my choice to make," replies Levi.

"I never said it wasn't," Erwin points out. "I can speculate why you denied Eren—we're both people who believe that everyone has a right to freedom, and there would be a double standard if you agreed to be dragon rider. But I don't think you're looking at this the right way."

Erwin plays his fingers around his resting sword. It is longer than Levi's, wider and bulkier, too. "Having Eren on our side is vital. I admit that I hadn't anticipated he would ask you to be his rider. My plan would have been different if I had. But if you agree to this dragon rider task, Eren won't have to be ostracized. Exile can be avoided. He doesn't need to be stripped of his home and of the life he has lived thus far, which is a much kinder outcome than the one I had intended. I said I would see him a merciful fate—exile is preferable to death, but he will suffer loss anyhow."

Levi loses interest in tying laces. They are tightly knotted at least three times, and three more knots will be a hassle to undo.

And Erwin's longwinded speech is ongoing. "If we ever want real peace between mankind and the Otherworld, both realms must become one. And I believe the first step toward that future could start with one man and one Otherworlder agreeing to work together to protect life"—Erwin sheathes his sword, metal blade hissing against metal scabbard—"namely you and Eren." Then he finally looks at Levi. "It's your call. I only ask that you consider all possibilities this agreement could have."

"I've considered it." Levi slings his crossbow over his shoulder and heads to the door.

"Levi,"—Levi glances at Erwin—"if you don't become Eren's rider, he'll remain subject to another man's liberty, someone who might not share our same values." Erwin leaves that open, and Levi catches a mental preview of what that could mean. He doesn't like what he sees.

"You've made your point. I'll reconsider—"

The door abruptly slams open, and a frantic Petra bursts in, breathless. "Commander! The kingdom is under attack!"

* * *

In the late of winter, when the days are fleeting and cold, the nights long and colder, it is a struggle to stay alive, especially for Eren. His internal flame will quiver, sometimes flickering out altogether for a precarious breadth of a moment. Eren feels as though winter has come early. It is winter in this dungeon—cold, long, and dark. Eren quivers in his chains.

Today is his last day, his last chance to find a dragon rider or he will be exiled and have to leave Mikasa and Armin behind. Eren sinks in his chains, weighted by the loneliness that he will feel if that happens. He always thought he and Armin would sail off to one of those tropical islands that had been drawn in a book Armin found. He thought Mikasa would be with them and they could go wherever they wanted— see the world.

They wouldn't stay in one place for long because there are too many other places that they would want to see. That was going to be their future, and that future is crumbling to pieces before Eren's eyes. And it is Eren's fault—because he cannot find a goddamn rider. Maybe he should have let Sanes be his rider. The man would have used Eren, but Mikasa and Armin are worth the sacrifice.

Eren's hair prickles, rising on end. A force like voltage manifests near the door and Eren knows exactly who it is. "Mikasa."

Her footsteps are soundless, but the buzzing field of energy intensifies, so he knows that she is getting closer. She pulls the blindfold down his chin, then her dark, bottomless eyes are locked with his eyes. "You feel weak." With a tap of her fingers, the chains around his wrists snap open and his arms fall to his sides. She catches him when he topples forward, powerless to sustain his own weight.

"Eren…" She wraps him up in her arms, holding him close, but he pulls out of her grasp.

"You're not my mother. Don't hold me like a child."

"That's not…" She sighs and lets it pass and raises an upturned hand in front of him. "Be still."

A delicate white light wisps from her fingertips, condensing into a soft globule of self-sustaining energy hovering in her palm, gently swaying, afloat—a will-o'-the-wisp. _"Mystics sometimes summon their power because they're an embodiment of innocence and purity and hope,"_ Mikasa had once told him. _"They heal those with good hearts._ _And you have a good heart, Eren, a very good one."_

The light's tendrils lick Eren's face, ghosting like a cool breeze on feverish skin. Eren melts. His tension falls away. Vitality fulfills him—first in his chest, then, like ripples in water, it spreads through him. His fingers twitch to life, his toes curl. He tosses his head back with a contentment that feels like it will last him his whole lifetime. He won't ever need anything else, because this is it. This is heaven. The light reaches inside him and touches his soul. It rolls over his soul in a wave of pure bliss. Eren closes his eyes, breathing deeply.

"Feel better?" asks Mikasa.

Eren's eyes open partway. The green and blue in his irises have meshed into a color that Mikasa can't name but knows as beauty and passion and seawater. It is the color of her thoughts, and the color that keeps her up at night. His intense features are uncharacteristically softened, and that permanent furrow in his brow is all but gone. Mikasa feels her heart murmur. She hopes Eren doesn't notice.

"Thanks," he softly says, and there is another murmur of Mikasa's heart that she hopes he doesn't notice.

"There's something I want to talk to you about," she tells him, now that he is conscious enough for real conversation. "You asked the dragon hunter to be your rider—why him?"

"I don't really know. He's just—there's something about him."

"I think you should choose someone else."

"What—Why?"

"First off, he's a dragon hunter and you're part dragon. You're not exactly a good match."

Eren clicks his tongue. "That's a stupid reason."

Mikasa searches his face. Eren doesn't know what she is looking for or why she needs to search him for anything—Eren is easier to read than a book in bold-faced script—but she must not find it, because she looks away. "It's your choice," she says. "I can't stop you from choosing him." Between her thumb and forefinger, she pinches the muffler draped around her neck. "Do you remember when we met and you gave me this muffler?"

"Yeah…but I don't like thinking about it." That day he gained Mikasa as a friend, but it was under unpleasant circumstances.

"It may not be a dragon and rider link, but it still connects us," she murmurs. Mikasa wants to touch the fold in Eren's brow. She wants him to never look away. She wants that nameless color of his eyes to always fill hers. "No matter where you are or where you'll go, we'll be together."

Eren's brows pull together till they are nearly one. "I'm not leaving you or Armin. I won't be exiled, so don't worry about that." The passionate determination that is characteristic of Eren flickers in his voice, and Mikasa would believe Eren even if he had told her that the sky was falling. "I'll convince the dragon hunter to accept me."

There isn't an opening for her to reply. Mikasa and Eren share a look as their ears perk at the sound of footsteps. The will-o'-the-wisp dissipates, so does Mikasa, and then Eren is back in chains, arms a Y over his head—looser than before Mikasa showed up—and blindfolded like nothing happened. The door opens and a guardsman comes in.

"The king has requested your company."

* * *

A maelstrom of roaring fire and smoke dominates the village, and the village flakes to hopelessness and despair. The hunters rush into its fiery pits on horseback, Levi in the lead. The wind carries a familiar stink of burning flesh and hair to his nostrils, while the sounds of crackling followed by succumbing pops of caving homes reach his ears.

It is the end of the world. Again. Levi has faced the end more times than he has faced the beginning. As far as he knows, he has only experienced one beginning, a birthdate that he can't remember. But the end comes and comes again. Hell's gates open from the sky and hellfire rains down, obliterating everyone in its wake. It pours from the breath of giant, winged beasts, and Levi has to shut the gate before the entire kingdom turns to ash.

"Petra, lead the villagers north," he orders. "They can take cover behind castle walls."

"Yes, sir!" She deviates from formation and takes off.

"Hanji, these are regular dragons, right?" His gaze is tapered ahead. "And not shifters."

"Most certainly," she agrees. "They appear to have no motive in mind but destruction and bloodshed."

There are four dragons total, two of which seem to be a pair. They fly close to one another, and Levi locks target on them. "The two on the left are mine," he growls, then speeds in their direction.

In brief time, he gains ground. His horse hurtles toward dragon tails, hooves flying over debris and ash and patches of burning weeds. The dragons see Levi, and the sight of him acts as a catalyst, sparking alight the flammable fumes coating their throats. Straight and steady, Levi rides onward. They twist their heads back, lips stretched. Levi holds position, his fingers contracting around the reins, ready. Twin streams of flame jet at him, and his hair blows back from his temples in a fore-breath of oncoming inferno. He is close enough to the fire-breath that his face tingles. Then, just when he should be fried to a crisp, he jerks the reins and his horse barely sidesteps the attack.

Grabbing up his hookshot, he aims and shoots. The hook soars above the dragon on the right, reaches its highest peak, then swings around, coiling the dragon's neck like a collar. Levi yanks—the dragon is pulled his way, smashing with its partner in a tangle of conflicting wing beats. Their bodies knot till one can't be separated from the other. They tailspin out of the sky and crater the earth with their violent landing.

Kicked up dust lingers above the ground, shrouding a dune of giant, jumbled dragons, temporarily incapacitated. At the foot of it, Levi leaps from his horse and climbs the hill of their bellies. "You smell like sunbaked filth," he mutters, scrunching his nose. "Every last one of you."

He lifts his sword and thrusts it at the nearest dragon's neck. Blood splashes onto his hands and boots—and the dragon's neck is severed to a few flesh fibers, the more persistent ones that still connect its head to its body. With his blade caught mid-throat, Levi turns the hilt and the fibers snap entirely, beheading the beast. Its head—now skull and half-neck—rolls in the blood-splattered dust, and the dragon's carcass starts to disintegrate.

Levi's gloves are grimy and sticky, and he grimaces. "…Disgusting."

The other dragon stirs. It flaps its sail-like wings, floating from the ground; and the scales of the disintegrating dragon catch in a cyclone, mixing with the swooshing air moved beneath the dragon's wings as it gradually rises. Levi lazily treads the decaying backbone of the dead dragon for the one taking flight.

"Stop squirming." The order is dull and bored and offhand. "I can't carve out your eyes if you don't stay put." Before it can launch into the air, he jumps the gap between the dragons. Then he is aboard its back as if dragon riding has become second nature.

* * *

Eren's knees are bruised from being knelt on unrelenting stone floor for hours. Can bruises scar? Will his kneecaps be tattooed black and blue? Of course not, he is a dragon shifter. But it still hurts. Metal gnaws at his wrists. He has a kink in his shoulder and his arms ache from being locked behind his back. He is starting to forget what the world actually looks like—life before blindfolded and dungeon darkness is fading from memory.

"It seems that dragon hunter is true to his reputation," the king remarks in a way that makes Eren picture him stroking his beard and smiling, "riding a dragon like that…"

From the safety of his chamber in higher altitude, the king has been spectating this war as if it were a play or a drama, tossing in casual comments here-and-there on the hunters or the villagers or the dragons like he is some sort of critic. _"Oh, the red-haired hunter is leading the villagers inside my courtyard. How noble." _And, _"That poor, poor peasant." _And, _"That dragon has quite an appetite. Was that six people it has eaten?"_

He chose Eren as his date for this showing, and Eren's self-control is reaching its limits. The way the king speaks so carelessly, not a concern in the world that his kingdom is up in flames, agitates Eren. His stomach spits and sputters rage. Fury rises in his throat like acidic vomit, but it's not vomit—it is dragon breath.

"I can help," says Eren. "Let me fight!"

The king shrugs off Eren's proposal. "You'll fly away."

"I won't! I swear!" Eren gnashes his teeth. "Please!" he begs. "Trust me!"

"You have no rider. Until you have one, you are not to be released."

Vomit-like rage floods Eren's mouth. He gulps and it sears his throat. "But the dragon hunter could fall!" he shouts. "If you let me go, I can catch him! Let me catch him!" Eren vehemently struggles against his cuffs. Iron cuts his wrists and they bleed. "I won't let him fall! I swear it!"

"If he falls, that's his mistake."

Disbelieving, Eren goes quiet. "You'll…let him die?"

"It's his duty as a hunter. He will have an honorable death."

"But that's not—"

There is a firm knock at the door, and the king permits the visitor entrance. Silver birch saturates the air.

"Your Majesty," comes Commander Erwin's stone-sober voice. "I must advise you to move underground. This battle has travelled too close."

There is momentary silence in this chamber while chaos plagues the kingdom, while fire rampages villages, while villagers die. And their king is silent. "Very well." He rises from his chair. "Take the dragon shifter back to his cell."

"_No!_" shouts Eren. "Let me _fight!_" The door is shut before the plea is out Eren's mouth. A frustrated breath explodes from his chest, and he hunches his shoulders, feeling small. "Am I really that untrustworthy?"

"Perhaps." Erwin steps in line next to Eren's crouched form. "You've yet to prove your worth."

"Give me a chance, then."

But Erwin doesn't make a move to unshackle him. "Eren, why have you chosen Levi?" he asks.

Eren is taken off guard, not expecting that question. He has to think. "He's… He was… He was kind to me. Well, sort of."—But more importantly—"He's strong, _really_ strong, and maybe that compensates for some of the disadvantage he's at, but it doesn't change the fact that dragons are made for the sky and he's earth-bound. With my help, though, he could fly."

"You make a strong case, Eren Jaeger." Erwin sounds like his thoughts are stewing, but whatever it is that they are stewing Eren hasn't the slightest clue. "As a dragon, you need light," he says, and Eren still hasn't the slightest clue what Erwin is getting at. "It is your life source, so naturally you avoid the dark. But I wonder, are you afraid of it?"

He wants to know if Eren is afraid of the dark? Eren hasn't been afraid of the dark since he was a kid. "I'm not sure I know what you mean, sir."

"Ignore me. It was a loaded question."

A key is slipped into Eren's cuffs, and they unlock with a half-turn. Puzzled as to why Erwin has disobeyed direct orders from the king, Eren stares at him after pushing the blindfold over his hair.

Erwin's eyes are blue steel and say, _here is your chance_. "I believe Levi could use your assistance"—he offers a closed-mouth smile—"and your wings, too."

Eren nods his head. "Yes, sir." Then, stepping onto the lip of the open windowsill that the king had been looking through, he scans the horizon. Miserable smoke and gliding, winged figures rule the sky. Eren doesn't waste another second. He hurls himself into the air, enjoying a few thrilling moments of free-fall before his wings sprout from his back. They explode from his shoulder blades, having been bottled-up for way too long. And then he is flying—the best feeling in the world.

* * *

Riding a dragon and riding a dragon shifter are two completely different feats. This dragon has no intelligence, which is apparent from its inconsistent flight patterns. It won't decide on a direction, aimlessly gliding. The chain lassoing its snout thwarts any attempts at breathing fire, and Levi tries reining it away from the kingdom, but it is useless. This dragon is useless. "You're useless," he tells it.

The squadron has slain the other two dragons; this is the last one, but Levi can't kill it because, presently, it is the crutch sparing him the hundred-meter death fall that he would rather not encounter.

A thundering roar splits the horizon, and Levi knows what it is—rather who it is. He turns his head and oncoming is a dragon of glimmering sea-foam green and blue, hurtling toward Levi. Eren gets closer, and Levi leaps, dragging his dagger down the web of this last dragon's wing, slitting it on a downward beat; he reaches the tip and retracts his dagger, letting himself fall just as Eren swoops under him. Levi mounts him, and this time, doesn't scratch him.

The last dragon crash-lands, while Eren expertly touches ground, churning wind. The dragon has a gimpy wing, but its legs are working fine, and it is able to lunge at Eren, sinking its fangs deep in the muscle casing Eren's shoulder. He cries out, then angrily tackles it. Eren is bigger, stronger, and the other dragon reels backward, collapsing on its dorsal spines. They break like bones, with a dense sound like snapping tree trunks.

Eren is on top, tearing his teeth into its throat, jerking his head from side to side till there is a loud _crack!,_ and the dragon's neck breaks in two places. Blood spurts at Eren from a thick, severed artery as he rips out a mouthful of dragon flesh, tendons and muscle filaments stringing thick as rope from his jaws.

The dragon is very much dead, and, as is normal of a dead dragon, its scales peel from its bones layer-by-layer, powdering to ash. The bones as well, dissolve to gray ash. Then the winds whisk away the remains, then it is quiet.

Levi dismounts, and Eren shifts. Eren feels golden. He thinks of all the people who fear him, of all the people who hate him—the villagers, the guards, the king._ Look at me now,_ he thinks, _I just helped save your skins. _Eren relishes this victory and grins. His chest swells with the urge to belt out his mightiest roar. He turns to the dragon hunter, and his chest deflates. The hunter's eyes are slit at Eren, his upper lip twisted in disgust.

Eren awkwardly shifts his shoulders, feeling yellow rather than golden. Has Eren screwed up his last chance? "Wh-What, did I do something wrong?"

"Unacceptable."

"Huh?"

Levi's hand darts into his pocket. Something of white, cottony material is flung at Eren—a cloth. Eren catches it, wondering what the hell he is supposed to do with it. "It's for your face," says Levi. "Clean it. That's an order."

"Yes, sir!"

The cloth is engorged with blood and its ability to absorb has been exploited to the fullest, and still Eren isn't even close to being blood-free. More of it slicks down his hair, dripping down his neck. Eren sponges up what he can. He gives up—this is as good as it's going to get—and wrings the cloth dry. He tries to hand it back to Levi, but he refuses it, recoiling like it is toxic.

"Keep it," he says, all of a sudden charitable.

Eren stares at the cloth that has been gifted to him. Maybe he hasn't ruined his chances after all. He will ask the dragon hunter just one more time…

Eren drops to his knees and flattens his hands to the ground, bowing his head. "Be my rider." He bows his head lower till his forehead meets soil and he is breathing in dust. "_Please._"

At first there is no reply—the stillness wavers like a flipped coin balancing on its edge in equilibrium, tensions pulling, vacillating uncertainly. Heads or tails? Yes or no? Will he be Eren's rider or won't he? Will Eren be exiled—?

There is a quiet hiss. Eren looks up just as Levi peels his glove from his left hand. He examines his palm as if it is an appendage that has sprouted from his body and shouldn't be there.

"You burned me."

Eren feels a jolt at the accusation. "Wh-What? No, I couldn't have." Eren is in his human form. He shoots to his feet and grabs Levi's hand. "No way…"

There is a burn in Levi's palm just below the base of his thumb in the space defined by the curving line in his hand. Swirls and loops spill into Levi's flesh like a hot needle has scraped out his skin. Levi was right. Eren burnt him somehow. "Wait…that's not a burn." Running his thumb over the shape, Eren traces out the contour of a dragon eye. "It's a mark!" Realization knocks Eren back a step. "You're…my rider."

Levi stares at the mark, pondering it—blinking, then pondering some more, till he decides to ponder Eren instead, and under Levi's impenetrable eyes, Eren shuffles, then hastily flips his eyes away.

"What made you change your mind?" Eren asks him.

"You seem like a persistent guy," mutters Levi, with that unreadable monotone. "I didn't feel like repeating myself."

Trotting hooves mash moist earth with sloshing noises. The other hunters have made their arrival, and Hanji is the first to spring off her horse, leaping into the air. "Let me see it, Levi! Show everything! Expose yourself to me! No modesty!"

"Squad leader!" scolds Petra. "You should be more careful with what you say!"

"Hmm?" Hanji pursues Levi like a ravening wolf. "I meant every word."

Eren balks on his heels, alarmed by the predatory glint in her eyes. But Levi maintains his calm, unflinching. Then her face is at his face, and Levi wears a dull look, still unflinching.

"Well, where is it?!" she demands.

He opens his hand, palm up, and Hanji screeches in delight. She snatches his wrist, her nose nearly shoved to Levi's palm as she goggles the mark. "Oh! It's _beautiful_, Eren! Nice work!" She presses her thumbs in Levi's palm as if kneading dough, molding the mark and memorizing its shape. "In palm readings that's called the Mount of Venus," she tells them, poking the base of his thumb where the mark is. "It's the part that indicates love and romance."

Eren's face heats up. "I've never heard that!"

Hanji guffaws. "It's a joke. No one believes that stuff." Then her expression changes to a mischievous one. "I was expecting you to mark someplace more exciting. Levi's hand is boring. Why not his—"

Levi jerks his hand away. "There's no time for this." He slips his glove back on and looks at Eren. "Don't you still have an exile sentence hanging over your head?"

Levi was right, exile is still haunting Eren. They return to the kingdom, and after the hunters tie up their horses, they proceed to the king's throne to revoke Eren's sentence. But as soon as Eren steps foot in the inner courtyard, from out of nowhere, an arrow impales his stepping foot. Eren shouts and falls to a knee. The attack is so surprising and sudden and painful, that Eren believes heaven has shot him and doesn't think to search from where that arrow has actually come from, or consider the likelihood that there could be more.

The arrow has pierced all the way through his foot, and when he wriggles it, an intense pain shoots up his leg. He hisses, takes in a breath to steady himself, and deadbolts his jaw. In a single yank, the arrow comes out, accompanied by a sharp pang that Eren feels in all of his leg.

There is the sound of a blast, then a chain locks and coils Eren's forearm like a constricting snake. His arm is pulled, and Eren lurches. His eyes follow the taut rope of chain to a meaty hand of a stern-faced guardsman. Eren's face contorts so severely that he is glaring from beneath the doublings of his own brows, his teeth bared. He heaves against the guard, throwing him out of balance.

Another chain blasts from the opposite direction and coils Eren's other arm. That arm, too, is pulled. Eren is trapped in a tug-of-war between the two guards—one arm tugged to the right, the other to the left, and Eren expects his body to cleave down the middle. He yells in agony.

Sparks shower as Levi brings his sword down on the chain straining Eren's right arm. It breaks, and Eren's arm goes limp, with violet and red braceletting his wrist. Then Levi raises his sword in both hands, high over the chain around Eren's left arm. He stabs the chain with enough force that the links shatter and his sword embeds in the ground like a stake.

There are no more blasts or chains or arrows. A pair of boots roots to the concrete at Eren's side, and Eren looks up. Levi appears taller, the glow of the sunset haloing his dark hair in a ring of fading light. His colorless eyes are shadowed and slit like drawn knives, his frowning mouth gritted in a hostile grimace. "Listen closely, you lot," he coolly orders the group of guards. "If you value your lives, you'll back off. No more shackles. No more chains."

"That's not your call, dragon hunter," says the frontrunner guard.

Levi gives him a long look. "That's no longer my name." He tosses his glove, deserting it on the ground, and reveals his marked palm. "It's dragon _rider _now."


	6. No One Is Meant To Fight Alone

I know I said that chapters weren't going to be as long as last chapter, but I got carried away and wrote another long chapter.

Things won't start really making sense until I move the story along. There's a lot of stuff that needs to be explained. I'm sorry if that's frustrating. I don't really know how to story build…

As always, thank you for reading!

* * *

Entry: The Otherstone

The origin of the Otherstone remains unknown. It is rumored to have been formed by the royal family of the Otherworld, otherwise known as the **Original Bloodline** (see entry _the_ _Originals_). Its full power is also uncertain. Before the **Great Divide**, or the secession of the Otherworld from the human realm (see entry _Great Divide_), it is assumed that the Otherstone was nonexistent; its creation is presumably to have stemmed from the movements of the Great Divide.

Perhaps the Otherstone is preserving and upholding the veil or barrier currently separating the two realms. This incarnate power could be the connection, or, rather, the source of disconnect between the two worlds. Providing that the stone continues existing, the realms will remain at an impassable divergence. But, then, this question surfaces: is it a good thing? What if the Great Divide was necessary for a greater purpose?

Appearance: an oval stone of violet color that pulsates with a life-like glow, approximately seven centimeters in length and four centimeters in width.

Recorded by _J.R.G_

* * *

"Where the hella've you guys been?" demands Connie. "My old man wanted to sack you. Said no-shows are no-goes. Whatever that means!" Connie is already at work in the fields, hands gloved, wearing a wide straw-hat that mushrooms from his round, shaved head.

Mikasa, Eren, and Armin have worked on the Springer farm for years. Connie's father didn't care where they had come from as long as they completed their work by sundown each day. They were provided food and shelter in exchange for their labor; and most importantly, no questions were asked, which was a blessing to a threesome of young, homeless Otherworlders.

Eventually, though, Eren told Connie the truth, because Eren had a weird thing about lying or not being entirely honest with the people that helped him out: apparently, it gave him stomach ulcers. So during a particularly painful ulcer, clenching hard to his aching stomach, Eren had blurted the truth about his shifting power.

Connie gaped at him, flabbergasted, then remarked, "_That's awesome, man, really_._ Don't tell my father._" He returned to shoveling soil enriched with compost and a touch of mystic power courtesy of Mikasa. _"Say, come wintertime and I'm freezing my ass off, I can just get you to hock a loogie for me, and it'll be, like, a hot coal—right?"_

_"My breath is fire_," Eren had told him. _"Not my spit."_

Armin covers his own head with a straw-hat before picking up a hoe and tilling the ground, uprooting budding weeds. His movements have been made smooth and reflexive by muscle memory. "Sorry, Connie. The king summoned us."

Connie's rhythmic plowing misses a beat. "Whoa. What for?"

"Being Otherworlders."

"How'd he know?"

"Eren blew our cover," Mikasa tells him. She works up the fields with significant speed. "And he won't be back. He had to stay."

"That's no good." Connie's heave-ho rhythm starts up again. "The farm needs him. If we don't harvest enough—"

"Don't worry," she interrupts him. "I'll carry his workload." She readjusts the ragged, red muffler around her neck so that it fits more snugly. "The Springer farm will thrive as always." Her fingertips tingle with a concentration of power. She will make sure that this farm prospers. It provides a lot of people with their winter season meals. If it wanes under her care, then she will be the reason for starving families. She won't let that happen.

When Mikasa was a child and had a real family, her parents loved each other. Mikasa's mother was a mystic and her father was a human man, and although there was an established hatred between Otherworlders and humans prevalent in both realms, Mikasa's parents overcame that. They chose to live in a wood of the human realm, far from society, together.

They had a modest home, just enough space for a three persons family. Mikasa had inherited her mother's powers, but rarely did they use them; they had to conceal them. No matter how deep people attempt to bury their secrets, though, word gets out. And it was only a matter of time before theirs was exposed. Inevitably, Mikasa and her mother had been found out. Two men broke into their home, killing Mikasa's dad on sight by knifing clean through his throat. He crumpled with a thud.

Then came the scream, her mother's scream. Mikasa's mother went to attack, summoning up her powers. Her black hair and skirts whirled around her in a manifestation of sudden wind and thrumming energy, and she threw her hands at the men as if she were shoving their chests, but pushed only air. They flew, though, soared out the door and into the dense forest in which the Ackerman's had been harbored.

One of the men had a dagger. The blade was abnormally transparent and the hilt smoldered black like smoke, enchanted with some sort of dark power. It passed across her mother's throat the way it had her father's. Mikasa's mother groped at her slashed neck, somehow still on her feet and choking on blood. Blood ran down her neck in rivulets, seeping into her blouse till the front was entirely dyed. Her eyes swelled from her face and she seemed to want to tell Mikasa something. Her mouth moved incomprehensibly as if speaking words, but Mikasa couldn't read her lips. She only watched them open and close. That was all Mikasa could do, frozen in place.

Then her mother's skin began to crack as if it were brittle china. Crooked fissures wandered her flesh, splaying from her head to her neck, to her chest. Her whole body was shattered as if Mikasa were staring at her mother's reflection in a broken looking glass. Then she burst into motes of pale light, tragic and delicate like tears of moonlight, softly rising into the night sky through the canopy of shadowy trees. And Mikasa continued to watch the lights lift to the heavens. They had an unlikely beauty that was tinged with an impossible sorrow.

"You weren't supposed to kill the mother, you moron!" shouted the man that wasn't holding the dagger. "She was the one we were after!"

"Had no choice! She was try'na kill me!"

"Just get the girl!"

They took Mikasa, their arms solid around her. One man pinned her arms to the grass, while the other straddled her legs, positioning the dark enchanted dagger above her chest. The see-through point was trained for her heart, and she lied motionless, hollow-eyed. She didn't grieve for the death of her parents or fear her own…or maybe she did but didn't know it. She vacantly stared at the trees, at the man's anxious face, and realized something that she would never forget.

_This realm… It is a cruel place. _

The man whipped the dagger on Mikasa, and it entered her chest with a jerk. Something disembodied inside her was pulled to the surface, pressing against her ribs painfully. Pressure surged throughout her body, pinpointed to the place where the dagger was stuck in her chest. Her power was drawn out as if the dagger was absorbing it, stealing the life from her.

The blade drank up her power and energy, as white light filled its transparency so that it glowed and pulsed with reaped power. The blade sucked Mikasa dry, and her skin began to chip like porcelain ceramic. Mikasa clawed for air. She was suffocating as if the atmosphere had become a vacuum. The world darkened around her. Time was confused and had to slow down to keep up. The man above her blurred in a hazy delirium, swaying with such delay that it seemed he hardly moved at all.

Then came an unfamiliar shout. "Stop! Let her go!"

A beautiful white glimmer like a sheet of lightning flared beyond Mikasa's eyes. Then there was a ferocious, inhuman snarl. The pressure disappeared from her chest, and she could breathe again. Her vision spotted and her head spun as she caught a glimpse of an animal the size of a stallion mauling one of the men. Another sheet of lightning disoriented Mikasa. She screwed her eyes shut, head throbbing.

There was the sound of a struggle, and the new voice, the one that had interfered, made a strained, grunting noise. Mikasa's eyes flew open and she saw a young boy hoisted in the air by the grip of the remaining man. That was the first time Mikasa saw Eren, and as Eren was strangled, he had no fear, only rage. His eyes blazed angry emerald.

"Can't control your power yet, can you?" the man spat in Eren's face. "You're just a kid." The muscles of the man's arms contracted as he squeezed Eren's neck. Eren gasped, digging his nails into the man's hands, fighting for breath.

Mikasa crawled to where the dagger was laying neglected and seized the smoky hilt. The white luminosity of the blade throbbed and buzzed with energy. She coiled back her arm—the pulsating sped up, racing, strobing. She hurled it at the man strangling Eren. Never before had Mikasa thrown a knife, but the blade skewered his heart as if she had done it a thousand times. He fell over dead, and Eren crashed to the ground.

Eren's stunned incapacity was short-term. Soon he was scrambling over to Mikasa, who was flat on her back, blankly staring up at the sky, shell-shocked. She didn't think. She didn't feel. She couldn't, because her world had crumbled right under her feet and she was still falling. Her new world had not yet impacted her.

Then Eren had moved into her perspective against the black canopy overhead. He stared down on her, an intense crease carved between his eyebrows, permanent and hard, like the expressive, hard-thinking statues in the king's gardens. "Your skin…" His hand hovered near her face as if to touch her. He didn't. "It's breaking like glass," he said. "That's not normal."

Inexplicably, Mikasa felt her cheeks flame and was astonished, under the circumstances, that she still had the capacity to be self-conscious. She used what little power she had to call for help from the Otherworld. It was one of the only abilities that her mother had taught her. Will-o'-the-wisps showed, dancing between the trees like fireflies. The soft orbs of white light gently billowed around her; and thin, translucent gossamers branched from them, stretching for Mikasa like arms, touching her face like ghost fingers. The fragmented bits in her skin sealed and she struggled to a sitting position.

"Here, get warm." Eren flung his red muffler around her—it sloppily wound her neck, piling around her face and head. Then he was captivated by the will-o'-the-wisps hanging in the air around them. "What are those?" he asked. He reached for one, and it landed on his finger.

Then every will-o'-the-wisp that Mikasa had summoned congregated around Eren, compelled like the magnetism that the moon had on the ocean. They perched in his unruly hair, on his shoulders, and his arms, illuminating him like a silver-lined dream. Shadows of his eyelashes feathered on his cheekbones midst the silver luminescence when he blinked, and his eyes gave off their own sort of light. Like a torch, he burned. She couldn't tear her gaze from him…and has never been able to look away.

This realm may be cruel, but there is also something heartbreakingly beautiful about it, too—so, so beautiful. Smiling faintly, Mikasa touches the muffler around her neck.

A whisper, the feeling of his name, wakes Eren from his much-needed sleep. He cracks his eyes open. First, he smells silver birch—this place is flooded with the powerful scent of a silver birch forest. This is the guest house given to the hunters. Then yesterday's events are brought back to him in a quiet and calmly spoken line in his head, _"That's not my name. It's dragon rider now." _Eren has a rider. He won't be exiled. Everything changes from here on out.

He sits up and sees the petite, red-haired hunter, Petra, sweeping a broom over the uneven floorboards. "Good morning, Eren."

Eren looks around, searching for a certain pair of colorless eyes. "Where's the dragon hunter?"

"You mean Captain Levi? He said to let you sleep in, since you've been locked up for a while. Said you could probably use the rest."

Eren wrings his fingers in the sheets. "He's unsociable and offensive, but…"

"But he's also kind." Petra chuckles; her high-pitched laugh sounds embarrassed. "In his own way."

"He's not what I expected of a hunter. None of you are. I've met hunters before, and they do what their name implies. They hunt and kill Otherworlders. But didn't that glasses hunter say you're part faerie?" Eren can sense a very faint trace of Otherworld in her, but he wouldn't have picked up on it if he hadn't been looking for it. "What do you guys really do?"

"We call ourselves hunters because we hunt dragons. But hunting Otherworlders isn't what we do. We protect life, human and Otherworlders alike. It's Commander Erwin's hope to make peace between the two realms. Freedom for everyone."

"This whole time I've felt that I was fighting the world. Everyone hated me. They wanted me gone." Eren sounds discouraged to his own ears. "But when I'm around you guys, I don't feel that way."

Petra smiles. "Captain Levi is strong, but even he says that no man is meant to fight alone. We fight together. We trust each other. That's what makes us efficient as a squadron." She reaches over to touch Eren's hand. "And you can be a part of that, Eren."

They go quiet because the door opens, and Levi walks in. Gripped in his hand is a wrap that smells of food, making Eren salivate on cue. He is starving! His stomach grumbles irritably, but Eren pretends that it didn't and pointedly overlooks the food provoking him.

"Good morning, Captain," Petra greets.

He eyes the broom in her hands. "Good work," he says, and she beams.

The mattress dips as Levi sits on the edge of the bed next to Eren. The waft of food is unbearable and Eren's stomach loudly whines again. Levi holds out the wrap. "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I just grabbed what they had." He offers it to Eren, and Eren hesitates, mystified. This food had been intended for Eren from the beginning? He shares a glance with Petra. She is smiling, beckoning with her eyes for him to _go-on-and-take-it_.

He is about to do so when a fleshy smear catches his eye. The dragon rider mark on Levi's hand glimpses beneath the wrap and beguiles Eren; he unknowingly holds his stare there for too long. Then the wrap is impatiently shoved into his grip.

"Thank you," Eren stammers, forcefully breaking the trance that the mark has over him.

"You'll need it. Knowing her, she'll want to fool around with your ability." Levi hunches on the edge of the bed. "Her tampering could be the death of you, Eren."

"Who do you mean?"

The door opens, and Hanji makes a theatric entrance, ponytail wagging behind her head like that of a cheery puppy-dog. "Morning! How's the new dragon rider pair getting along?"

Levi frowns in annoyance. "Her."

* * *

It is midday, and Armin, Connie, and Mikasa are hard at work. Mikasa has held to her word; she carries out her own workload plus Eren's, and she shows no fatigue. But it doesn't take long for Armin to tire out. Soon he is wheezing and has to slow his pace considerably. His face is flushed with heat and his clothes flop slick on his bony frame, making him look ill. Taking a brief breather, he supports his weight on the shovel, chest heaving, shoulders wilted.

Connie glances at him, then keeps digging. "Yo, Armin. We paid the Blacksmiths for some new tools and supplies. They should be ready by now. You mind grabbing 'em?" He draws off his dirty glove, sticks his hand in his pocket, and pulls out a letter. "Just show them this and they'll give you what we ordered."

Armin rides the Springer's aging horse into town. It is an older horse, so they move at a leisure walk. A small cart for the load of supplies is tethered to them, and it bumps along the potholed dirt path winding through the fields, wheeling a dust-cloud behind them. Armin has never been to the Blacksmiths shop. Whenever they need supplies, it is Eren, Mikasa, or Connie that attends to the job. They are quick, in and out. Armin isn't as fast. Clearly, Connie gave him this task because he was slowing them down in the fields. No matter what job Armin is assigned, he does a poor job carrying it out. Why can't Armin be more help? Armin is nothing but a liability.

When Armin reaches the Blacksmith shop, a tall guy, with the build of a full-grown man is slaving away. The hard muscles stacking his body work under his skin as he swings a hammer and flattens red-hot iron into the early stages of a sword. Once he notices Armin, he leans on the long-handled hammer, wiping at his glistened brow, and flashes a winning smile.

"Can I help you?"

"Um, my name is Armin Arlert, and I'm here for the Springer family." Armin hands him the letter Connie gave him.

The blacksmith wipes his dirty hands on his pants before taking it. "Oh, so Connie sent you. You guys friends?" He skims what is written on the inside.

"I work for his family."

Overtop the letter, the blacksmith does a once-over of Armin. "You're a farmer, huh. You don't really look like one." Slender and often mistaken for a woman, with fair and sun-sensitive skin, it is undeniable; Armin doesn't have the build of a farmer.

"You can't expect much of an elf," remarks another voice.

Both Armin and the blacksmith turn. Surprisingly, it is Annie, the female knight. She strolls, lethargic as if she has nowhere to be. "Reiner, you've got the new weapons supply for the king's guard, I hope. I'm not sticking my neck out for you."

The blacksmith, Reiner, refolds the letter into threes. "You won't have to. Bertholdt's finishing up in the back. Did they send you out on town errands today? Why aren't you training with the other knights?"

"Picking up supplies is less work," she mutters.

"Were you always this lazy, Annie?"

The only reply she gives is an indolent shrug.

"If you don't like training," Armin says to her, "why did you become a knight?"

Her dreary blue eyes are out-of-focus. "The benefits."

Reiner snorts. "Yeah, well, we can't all get free food and handouts. Most of us work like slaves just to scrape by. Right, Armin?"

Armin thinks for a second. "That doesn't make Annie's way wrong, though." That brings Annie to focus. "People that prefer to protect themselves aren't necessarily bad people. Annie has chosen for herself how to live, and, the way I see it, there's no right or wrong answer to that. It's just…where you want to place your bets. Life's a gamble that way."

Fallen mute, they both stare at Armin, and Armin shirks their looks. Then Reiner strongly claps him on his shoulder. "An elf farmer that speculates life. You're one of a kind."

Reiner gathers the Springer's supplies and loads them in the cart. The other blacksmith, Bertholdt, is even taller than Reiner, though not as brawny. He is also kind, checking three times that the cart is secure, and offering to escort Armin on his return travel. Armin politely denies the offer. He isn't going to burden anyone else today.

Then Armin swings a leg over the horse and starts on the path. He passes the last row of shops and turns over his shoulder for a leaving scan of the village. He sees Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie packing the new weapons in the king's wagon. They also pack things like flints and firesteels and torches, an iron-bundle of necessities.

The strands of Annie's hair that have tumbled loose from her pin flicker over her face. She doesn't bother tucking it away, letting it freely breeze her cheekbone. She catches Armin's stare—they hold a look, and Annie's deadened, blue eyes are unwavering. Armin holds her stare a moment more, probing, puzzling. Then he turns about face and continues to the farm.

* * *

The hunters are gathered around their humble dining table. Levi is at one head, Hanji at the other, her hands clasped around the Otherbook. A pot of hot tea is center-stage, and they each have a steaming cup set in front of them. Levi sips from his, holding the teacup by the brim, fingers spindling the top, rather than holding it by the handle. Erwin is absent, and when Eren asks where he is, Hanji tells him that he is meeting with the king to discuss the dragon rider business. That is it. No further explanation.

Hanji leans over the table towards Eren, her brown eyes wolf-like behind the lenses of her glasses. "What's it like defecating when you're a dragon?"

Eren chokes on tea and breaks into a coughing fit. The prickles in his throat make his eyes water. "WHAT?"

"Your bowel movements. Are intervals more frequent? Is it harder to control?"

"Uh…" Eren fidgets. "Is that important?"

"Yes! I need to know _everything_ and document it in the Otherbook." Her eyes are gaped huge as if they could drill into Eren's skull and break ajar the doors to his deepest secrets. "Every. Little. Detail. Understand?"

"Just answer the question, Eren," says Oluo. "Who knows, could save us from getting in some deep shit, if you know what I mean." Oluo repeatedly nudges Eren so that Eren couldn't possibly miss his pun.

Eren moves away from him. "Yeah, I get it."

"Taking a dump is a man's personal business," Eld remarks. "You can't just ask him about it. It's private."

Hanji pats her hands on the leather cover of the Otherbook. "Nothing is private in scientific research."

"What's in that, exactly?" Eren waves at the book in Hanji's grasp. "I know you said it's a documentation of the Otherworld, but is it an index of Otherworlders, or is it the history…?"

"I'd say the Otherbook is more like an index than a history text, but it's not compiled alphabetically. It has journal-style entries; though, there aren't any dates chronicled, which leads me to believe that a single person couldn't have written it."

"Where'd you get it?" A disconcerting silence follows the question. Clearly, Eren has asked the wrong question. The faces around him are barren.

Hanji pushes her glasses higher on her nose. "Eren…" Her voice is uncharacteristically serious, and Eren goes rod straight. "Are you aware that there are three realms?" He doesn't have to tell her that he seems to have missed the history lesson concerning a third realm—not that he knows much about history, anyway. The little he does know was learned from Armin's borrowed books. "Everyone is familiar with the human realm and the Otherworld. But there is one last realm that is often forgotten. The Shadow Realm."

"The Shadow Realm?" Eren has never heard of such a thing. "What's that?"

"There are two sides to everything, two polar ends." She balances her words in the palms of her hands like a weighing scale. "Pleasure and pain, good and bad, light and dark, most of us fall somewhere in the gray. No one is entirely good or bad, so both realms have dual sides that balance one another. Each realm has a light source that provides life, but each realm also casts a shadow that brings about a mortal end, and the seam where those shadows overlap is another realm—the Shadow Realm. It's the place where all our darkest feelings, drives, and fears cultivate. It's where the dead and lost turn-up. Time doesn't exist there. It's a forever-world, or a never-world, so to speak."

Hanji fingers the pages of the Otherbook. "Erwin and I found the Otherbook there. People don't typically venture into the Shadow Realm, because once you're in, it's difficult to find your way back out. But we were looking for something in particular—a solution that could quell the uprising before it developed into out-and-out civil war. We stumbled upon this book instead." She stops at a section in the book and positions it at face toward Eren. There are torn edges and unraveling seams. A good chunk has been ripped out. "When we looked inside, everything involving the Shadow Realm had been removed. Someone wants the Shadow Realm to be entirely overlooked."

"Wait a second." Eren raises his hand as if he can freeze her quick-fire mouth with it, because his mind is straggling way behind. "What do you mean by uprising?"

"You're a lost cause, kid," says Oluo, lazily tossing his arm over the back of his chair in a weirdly familiar fashion. He takes a sip from his teacup, fingertips wrapped around the rim, which Eren also finds familiar. "Do you even got any brains inside that hollow head of yours?"

"It's not like he can know what goes on behind Otherworld doors. He's been closed out," Eld points out. "He has to be wary of humans, too. And you can't learn much if you're not around people."

"We've been around and seen more," Gunther adds. "So we know more."

"Gunther's right," Hanji agrees. "We've travelled far over the map, and every kingdom, every state of affairs that we've encountered showed friction between humans and Otherworlders, friction that has been snowballing for a very long time. Humans and Otherworlders don't live in harmony. Humans fear Otherworlders because they have an ability that they don't. And Otherworlders see humans as being weak and insignificant. It won't be long before war erupts between the realms."

Eren tries to puzzle the pieces. The gears in his mind grind as if they have been rusted. "But what does that have to do with the Shadow Realm?"

"With war comes pointless carnage," says Levi, eyes thrown at the wall. "There will be a deluge of death into the Shadow Realm. Eventually…it'll bust. Before you know it…the other two realms will be flooded with darkness." Levi's frowning mouth twitches lower. "There will be nothing left," he mutters, "but shadow."

Eren's eyes go round. "But we don't need to go to war!" he exclaims. "I've seen true camaraderie between humans and Otherworlders!" Eren thinks of Connie. He thinks of his own parents—his father, a dragon shifter, and his mother, a human. Otherworlders and humans can go as far as loving one another. It doesn't have to be war between their kinds. "We're not all enemies here."

Hanji grins. "Yes. That's why we need you, Eren."

"Huh? You mean you don't just want me for dragon hunting?"

"Well, dragon hunting is in the job description," she says. "But you play a more important role than that. You're the creature that humans fear the most—a dragon. Yet, you also defend the people who fear you. Naturally, trust will be built. People will see you as a guardian and a ray of hope. Already you've played your role with flying colors. By asking Levi to be your rider in front of that crowd—we couldn't have asked for a better line."

Eren rubs the back of his head. "That's a big responsibility. You sure you want to invest something like that in me?" …Because Eren isn't sure that he is ready to take on a responsibility as important as this one. What if he can't do it? What if he fails everyone?

Levi looks at him from the head of the table. "If this doesn't work, then we will have made an error in judgment," he says. "It isn't an error yet,"—Levi's eyes narrow, and Eren goes straighter—"Don't let it be an error."

Eren nods. "Understood."

* * *

Under scrutiny, in the king's spacious throne room, Erwin stands before His Majesty and council. Erwin maintains his forceful disposition as severe stares work to chink his self-assurance. The king is slumped at his throne, knuckles bracing the side of his face. The knight that had won the tournament, Sanes, is at the king's right hand. His anxious-looking, protuberant eyes are on Erwin and he mutters quietly to the king. Erwin can't hear him, but he presumes it is not in favor of him or the hunter squadron.

Erwin bows in respect. "Your Majesty, I appreciate your agreement to meet with me." He straightens. "I should inform you, as of yesterday, Captain Levi agreed to the undertaking of dragon rider."

The king's white eyebrows rise. "The dragon slayer?"

"Yes. Eren has chosen him, which means he isn't under your sovereignty or the jurisdiction of one of your loyal subordinates. He is under Levi's."

A faint, humored smile quirks the king's mouth. "Are you threatening me, Commander Erwin?"

"No, Your Majesty, that wasn't my intention." Erwin is being honest. He doesn't mean to affront. "What I mean to offer you is compromise."

"Oh? What sort of compromise?" The king's tone mirrors the humored smile on his face.

"I've been informed that you are in possession of something that I am looking for. In exchange for it, I can offer you and your kingdom protection."

"And what is it that you want?"

"The Otherstone."

The king's smile broadens. "You play an impressive game, Commander. However, you still fall short of your objective. I'm in possession of the stone and you cannot scheme around that."

"This is no game or scheme," declares Erwin. "It is compromise."

"I refuse."

Erwin takes a step. "There is an uprising, Your Majesty. I know you've felt it, the unrest amongst Otherworlders and humankind. If compromise cannot be reached, war will be upon us! You can avoid this. Please consider what I am saying to you. Use this to your advantage. If you play the appropriate cards, this kingdom, this _world _can be spared the aftermath of bloodshed and calamity. The Otherstone is a central key to preventing an outbreak of civil war. Isn't that preferable to your kingdom being destroyed by such violence?"

One of the king's advisors, a plump, balding man, who Erwin recalls is named Lord Balto, replies in the king's stead. "If we refuse your proposal, what will you do? Steal the stone? Take it by force? Is that why you've come here?"

"If you refuse, it is true that I will have no other choice but to resort to less cooperative methods," Erwin admits. "As I said earlier, my subordinate is now dragon rider."

Lord Balto stiffens fearfully. "And I'm assuming you mean that as a threat this time."

Erwin's expression is hard. "It doesn't have to be. The choice is yours."

* * *

In the bosom of the woods behind the castle's southern walls, there is a clearing where Levi and Eren are going to tryout dragon riding. Their horses are tethered to the trees at the border and graze idly. Along with them are Hanji, with the giant Otherbook hauled under her arm, and the squadron. Mikasa has taken a short leave of her farming duties to be with them as well. She stands close to Eren, mechanically stepping closer whenever Levi is nearby. The wary looks she keeps throwing don't go unnoticed. Eren elbows her.

"Stop it," he hisses. "He's my rider."

She doesn't stop. "You shouldn't have chosen him."

"The hell do you know? It was _my_ choice, so drop it." Eren's tone is cutting, and Mikasa hides her face behind her muffler, going silent.

Hanji gestures to the center of the clearing. "Well, Eren, you're up." She plops in the grass, cross-legged. The Otherbook is spread in her lap, a quill and ink in hand. "Go ahead and do your thing."

Once Eren is at a far enough distance from the others, he shifts, growing tall and long, wings sprouting, all in a white flicker.

"Oh…!" Hanj is starry-eyed and hurriedly supplies the quill with ink and runs it over a blank page. Her hand scrawls rapidly, then she blows on the wet, finished sketch. "Your turn, Levi."

Levi steps up and has to crane his head to fix his eyes on Eren's back. How is he going to mount Eren if he can't reach? Eren folds his legs under himself, lowering to the ground. Still, there is too much distance between Levi and Eren's shoulders. Maybe Eren should have chosen a rider with longer legs…

_'I heard that, you little shit.'_

Eren jumps at the unexpected voice in his head and almost cries out. Then there is an outpour in Eren's head like a breaking dam. Two voices drone in the back of his mind, a continuous cycling with no end. The other voice is quieter, deeper than his own. It fades in and out, here and then gone. It is Levi's thoughts, Eren realizes.

_Sorry…,_ Eren tells Levi through their link.

It is an extension of Eren's mind, the dragon rider link. His mind is accessible and unrestricted as if a closed-off chamber has been unlocked. It is an exposure, a type of nakedness that makes him as though his insides are now his outsides—and Eren can't decide if it's an unpleasant feeling or not. In any case, it's a feeling that he will have to grow accustomed to. From now on, he will have to monitor his thoughts more carefully.

"Maybe Levi should get on Eren's back _before_ he shifts," Hanji suggests. "That way he'll already be in position when Eren changes."

Eren reverts to his human form. "So what, he'll just hop on my back and it'll be, like, a piggyback ride into battle?" They will look ridiculous!—Levi in his hunting gear, and Eren lugging him around like he is a child playing dress up. Gung-ho dragon rider!

"Think about it," Levi says to Hanji. "Say the kingdom is under attack. Do you really believe that a kid carting a fully armed person on his shoulders is an efficient strategy?"

Hanji touches her chin. "You can't reach. And it's not like you'll always have the leisure of finding a leverage point to leap from. You need to be able to mount him from ground level."

"I think I know what to do," says Mikasa. She undoes the saddle from Levi's tethered mare, horsing it along at thigh-level. "I can enchant this saddle so that whenever Eren shifts, it'll automatically appear on his back."

"But it's too small," Eren points out. "It won't fit around me."

"It'll work." Mikasa strokes her hand over the seat, then nods as signal.

Eren shifts and feels nothing, no added weight or irritable rubbing of heavy leather material. The saddle that was in Mikasa's hands has vanished, so Eren turns his head back and is both surprised and unsurprised to see a bright brown saddle drawn over his shoulders. Eren shakes out his muscles and the metal clips jingle, but it doesn't slide or move out of place. It is stable. Mikasa really knows what she is doing. Eren is impressed.

_'What is he, a goddamn horse? Why not give him reins, too?'_

Eren cocks his head at Levi. If Levi had said that aloud, Eren would have thought it was an insult. But that isn't the case. _I don't feel like a horse_, Eren reassures him through their link._ I think the saddle is a good idea. You'll have something to hold on to._

Levi blinks in surprise. They will both have to get used to the constant invasion of mental privacy. Eren crouches, and Levi climbs the extra long stirrup straps. He is swift and fluid. When the time comes to charge into battle, mounting won't be an issue.

"You guys look like something straight out of folklore!" exclaims Hanji. She gives a number of hard, congratulatory slaps on Mikasa's back, making her wince. "Good thinking with the saddle."

"Be careful, Captain," says Petra. "Hold on tightly."

"He's not a kid," Oluo retorts.

Petra reddens. "I know that, you idiot!"

Eren can hear Eld mumble under his breath to Gunther. "The captain looks tall like that. I can't even tell he's…you know…not very tall."

"Go see what you guys can do," Hanji encourages. "Of course, you'll have to tell me about it when you get back. Every detail." She collects the book beneath her arm. "Perhaps I should tag along. I can, right? I'm just gonna go with you guys. Move over, Levi."

Immediately, before Hanji can climb on, Eren generates a gust, flapping his wings, blowing Hanji's glasses askew, and Levi tightens his fingers around the handles of the saddle, seated forward. Then Eren launches into the sky.

It is a sunless day. Clouds are so dense that they construct a wall of gray vapor. It is somber and gloomy, and Eren blindly flies onward. His internal compass is haywire; he has no idea in which direction he is going, unable to see through the disorienting fog. Humid fumes of seawater thicken the air. They must be getting close to the ocean.

Having a rider isn't what Eren expected. It is as if he has two minds, two sets of commands instructing his body what to do—and they aren't in sync. In fact, they are at odds with one another. Eren's own voice says _turn left_, but the other voice, Levi's voice, says _turn right_. Eren wants to fly higher. Levi wants him to fly closer to the ground.

Eren hears rolling waves. They have arrived at the ocean, but it is hidden under a blanket of fog that Eren flies over. He coasts the sea breeze, letting the air currents carry him. Then giant mountains of crumbling rock rise from out of the thick veil of mist like blackened, rotting teeth.

_I'll fly over them. _

_'No,'_ comes Levi's even, voiceless command, '_fly low.'_

Eren growls in exasperation. _Higher! _

_'Lower.'_

Stuck in an impasse of contrasting commands, Eren flies between high and low, soaring at breakneck speed toward an arch of rock. He has to do something! Now! Before he rams head-on into a boulder! He ignores Levi's command and flies higher, over the arch—

Another arch of rock blocks his way. Eren collides with it, roughly banging his shoulder. He spins out, careening into another mountain of jagged rock. He is caught in a boulder jungle, and has no control over his own body. His wings catch conflicting wind patterns and clip stone. His paws awkwardly bound off the arches as he tries to steady himself. Then his tail slams into something. More boulders. He wrecks into a small slab of rocky islet that surfaces from the water like a peg. He skids, scraping his stomach raw, then comes to a friction-induced standstill and lies there panting, his brain in scrambles.

Eren senses Levi slide off the saddle and hears him march to where his head is resting. Levi's footfalls are heavier, stiffer. Then Levi bends his body to glare in Eren's left eye.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me. I told you to fly low," he sharply says. "There was a clear path under the arches. So you're either deaf or your dragon eyes are faulty. Which is it?"

Steam releases as Eren sighs. He adjusts his head in the opposite direction. A sword slams into the ground, centimeters from his face; the flat of the blade blocks the side of Eren's muzzle. Eren can't escape Levi's tapered, steely stare. "_Answer me_," demands Levi.

Eren reverts and crawls to a slouch. "I'm not deaf and I can see fine," he mutters.

Levi becomes unnervingly calm, and he sounds unperturbed, which unsettles Eren more than an angry shout would. "You're an Otherworlder. Nobody trusted you, so you didn't trust anyone else. In that way, I can understand why you would choose to ignore another person's judgment."

Levi sits down beside Eren, looking off into the sea mist, leaning an arm on his knee. "I won't force you to listen to me. It's up to you to make your own choices." Levi's jaw tightens and a shadow passes his face. His eyes are piercing. "But, then, you _aren't_ the person that we can rely on. And we're wasting our time betting on you."

Eren scowls at the rocky islet. Sprays of water blotch the dark stone, making fat, glossy teardrops on the surface. This was a mistake. Eren doesn't need a rider. Why should he turn to other people for help? He can fight on his own. It has been that way for as long as he can remember. Who was he kidding? Why did Eren think things could change?

"If you want to fight on your own, go ahead and do it," Levi mutters. "I won't say that you'll fail, because I couldn't know that. But, seeing as I've been at this longer than you, I can speak from experience, and I've learned that a person's individual strength isn't always enough."

Eren sees the faces of the squadron in Levi's mind—Eld, Gunther, Oluo, and finally Petra. "Your comrades are important." Then the images of Armin and Mikasa play in Levi's mind, the memory of them rushing down the ravine to help Eren. "It doesn't matter how strong or powerful a person is. No one is meant to fight alone."

At those words, Eren feels a jolt. _No one is meant to fight alone…_ It's not that people are incapable of being on their own, because they are capable. It's that they aren't meant to be. Eren wants something new to rely on, something new to believe in. He doesn't want to be treated as a monster anymore. And maybe, just maybe…Levi and the rest of the hunters are the people that he can believe in.

He looks at Levi, _really_ looks at him. A sea draft winnows its way through Levi's dark hair, rustling it, and his serious, drooped eyes are cast in the impenetrable fog. The circles under his eyes are prominent, forever entrenched in his face like scars. His jaw has a steep decline, tapering into a sharp chin, and his mouth is a tight-pressed frown. There is a part of Eren that fears Levi. But there is a larger part that wants Levi to like him. Levi is tense, grave, and unapproachable, but he is also strong and wise and trustworthy. And then Eren is certain that Levi is the person that he will believe in.

"I chose you to be my rider," Eren finally says. "So I'll also choose to trust in you."

Levi gives Eren a long, thoughtful look. Then he hauls himself to a stand. "Good, then." He holds out his hand, and Eren firmly grasps it.

They fly back to the forest where they began. It turns out that Levi has better insight with navigation. He intuitively knows in which direction to go, and they make it back without a hitch. The only person still waiting around is Hanji, and the moment they disembark, she has already asked, "How'd it go?" four times in four different ways.

"He flew us into a rock," Levi deadpans, and Eren turns an embarrassed shade of red.

She tosses her head with a laugh. "All good things have rough beginnings," she says. "You just gotta keep working, right?"

"Yeah." Eren balls his hands with newfound purpose. "I'll do better."

Clasping his shoulder, Hanji grins encouragingly. "That's the spirit!"

They each go to their tied up horses. Eren unties his and swings a leg over.

_'Acting on his own and refusing to comply, what a mess…'_

Levi's grim thought weighs on Eren's chest. He wants to apologize but is incapable of voicing it. He is too ashamed.

_'…But I still feel that I can place all my bets on him.'_

Eren snaps his head at Levi, but Levi is unaware that his thoughts are being heard as he untethers his horse. The weight is gone, and Eren's chest inflates with a flittering feeling, light, whispering like butterfly wings. He smiles at the sky. Tomorrow, Eren will take Levi higher. They will soar together and go to unreachable places. Eren wants Levi to feel what it is like to _truly_ fly. He will like it. Eren knows it.

* * *

Christa sits at her elegantly embossed vanity table, staring blankly into the mirror as Ymir runs a soft-bristled brush through her smooth hair, combing her scalp, then pulling it through the long, tumbling tresses. Christa fixes her eyes to Ymir's reflected face.

"Why don't you go by your full name Ymir Langner?"

Ymir pauses and meets Christa's questioning gaze. "Langner?"

"Well, I mean, that was your mother's surname, Ilse Langner. Did you not want to adopt her name?"

In the reflection, Ymir's face is stony and inexpressive, and Christa knows that she has hit a touchy subject. "That name isn't mine and will never be mine."

"What do you mean?"

Ymir resumes brushing Christa's hair. "I never knew the woman. Naturally, the name can't be mine."

"But she's your mother. You don't want to keep that part of your lineage?"

"No."

A couple years ago, Ymir had shown at the castle, her dress in tatters, her short hair loose and messy. She claimed to be the daughter of Ilse Langner, a servant who had disappeared long before Christa had been left in King Fritz's custody. The Langner bloodline was bound to serve the king, but Ilse had run from servitude, desiring freedom. Everyone assumed Ilse had either died somewhere in the wilderness or found her freedom. Then Ymir showed up.

One of the king's elder servants who was familiar with Ilse curled her fingers around Ymir's chin, studying her face closely, then nodded. "It's as though I am looking into the past, at Ilse herself. The short, dark hair, the freckled face and elegant bone structure—This child is indeed a Langner. There is no denying it."

"Your family is no longer welcome here," said another head maid. "Your mother broke that loyalty. We must ask you to leave."

Ymir bowed deeply in respect, her waistline nearly at ninety-degrees. "I know it's not my place, but I ask to be pardoned. My mother is not me, and I am not my mother. I wish to serve the mighty king and will do so exhaustively if you accept me."

Christa peeked from a distant corner, admiring the tall, freckled girl. Even in rags, there was something compelling and distinguished about her.

The maid noticed Christa watching, then smiled at Ymir. She could dump the elf nuisance on this unfortunate girl. "It just so happens that we have a position you can fill. How are you with caregiving?"

Ymir's face pinched. "_Caregiving?_" She sounded disgusted. Then she cleared her throat and her voice lilted sweetly. "I haven't any experience but if that's what you need, I'll do my best to fill the role."

The maid's grin was too wide. "Very good. What's your name, child?"

"Ymir."

"Come with me and let's get you cleaned up, Ymir Langner. Then I will show you to your duties."

Ymir curtsied in her shabby skirts. "Thank you."

Later that evening, while Christa roamed the halls, she couldn't stop dwelling on the way the head maid had handed her off to a stranger without a moment's thought. Was Christa just a handoff that nobody wanted? First her father and now this maid. Was she that unlovable?

"You look upset, Princess."

Christa spun around. An evening guard had spoken to her. He looked familiar. He had a face that she had seen around but didn't know. "Are you feeling unwell?"

Christa fabricated her most convincing smile. "No, not at all. I'm a little tired, I guess. But it's nothing."

The guard had nice eyes. "You should hurry to bed and get some rest, Princess."

"You're very kind." The considerate treatment was foreign to Christa. She wanted to keep talking to this kind guard but didn't. "Have a good night." She began to her bedchamber, then her wrist was caught.

The guard was smiling and his nice eyes cloyed sweetness. Christa's stomach sank uncertainly. "I could have a better night if you stayed a little longer."

Christa's fabricated smile was failing her. "I really am tired. I'm sorry. I should go."

He suddenly wound his arm around her waist, breathing against her hair. "I really think you should stay."

Christa's eyes welled-up. The world muddled and smeared like peering through dented glass—and she couldn't even tell the guard to let her go. Her voice was boxed-up in her throat, a hopeless mass.

Then the guard was in a chokehold, his back smashed against the wall, feet dangling above the floor. Her new caregiver's hand, Ymir's hand was beneath his chin, fingers crushing his neck. In her other hand she twiddled a butterfly knife, fanning the handles, folding it shut and back open again, toying, teasing. She was attired in a fresh dress and her hair was neatly pulled back at the nape of her neck.

Ymir grinned—it was a chilling, lopsided grin that made Christa hold her breath. "Hmm. What should I do now? Slit your throat? How boring."

The guard's face was turning purple. Ymir's hand had cut off his windpipe, and he scrabbled pitifully at her arm. Ymir prodded at the man's belt with the tip of her knife; her chilling grin widened like an unsheathed blade. "I'm thinking castration. What do you think? Will you learn your lesson, then?" The man desperately squirmed in her hold, choking mangled, slobbery noises. Throwing her head back, Ymir roared with laughter. "You'll be rendered useless! Less than a man!"

Her inexplicable laugh was brusque; it cut off, abrupt, sharp, and her uncanny smile vanished to dull disinterest so quickly that it shook up Christa even more. "No woman wants half a man," Ymir coolly murmured. And for a second the guard thought that her pupils had elongated to vertical slits like a serpent's. Her serpent-like eyes bore into him. Her voice resonated in his ear, though, hardly a velvety mutter. "Pathetic."

The tip of the knife nodded apart the buttons of the man's trousers—Christa took Ymir's wrist. "Wait, don't do that. Don't hurt him."

"If you don't want to watch, then turn away," Ymir calmly said. "Simple as that."

Christa held her arm firmer. "_Please!_ Release him! You're killing him!_"_

Ymir's chokehold didn't loosen right away. Then, one at a time, Ymir's fingers unfurled, and the guard dropped to his knees, gulping air. The edge of the knife pressed under the guard's chin, guiding his face upward. Ymir's flat gaze was unflinching. "Remember the feeling of this blade," she said like silk. "Touch the princess again, and it will be the last thing you ever feel across your throat." Fluttering her knife shut, Ymir pocketed it from view. "Come on, Princess. I'll take you to your room."

Ymir strode down the hall, and Christa lagged behind. Ymir had long strides. Every one of Ymir's steps took two of Christa's. She struggled to keep up. "Miss Langner, slow down!"

Ymir shortened her strides. "It's Ymir." Her eyes were pointed ahead. "Just Ymir."

"Miss Ymir—"

Ymir flicked her eyes at Christa impatiently. "No titles—_Just_ Ymir."

"Ymir…" Christa's face felt warm. "Thank you."

Christa's hair is now sleek and smooth, and Ymir puts down the brush. She reviews Christa's reflection in the mirror and sweeps her freely flowing hair behind her elf ear. "Are an elf's ears as sensitive as people say they are?"

"Yes."

Testing that claim, Ymir drags her finger along the arc of Christa's ear to the very tip, and Christa shudders. Ymir snickers. "You weren't lying."

"I don't lie."

"No?" Ymir's smile is mocking. "Because I think that you do, goddess of the kingdom. The person that your loyal subjects think you are isn't real. She's a lie."

Christa's eyes fall to the floor. "I don't get you at all," she murmurs. "You're unkind, and then you're kind, and then you're unkind again…"

"It's not unkindness," Ymir says. "It's insensitivity, maybe. All I want, Princess, is for you to live for yourself, and you can't do that if you're worried about everyone else." Ymir backs away, and Christa twists around in the seat as Ymir courteously bows her head. "If that's all you need, I'll be leaving now."

"You don't have to."

"Is there something you need?"

"No, but…"

Ymir straightens, not looking at Christa. "You should rest." Then she goes to the door but pauses before slipping out. She turns over her shoulder. Christa hasn't moved from the chair, her chin tucked, downcast. "Christa"—she looks up at Ymir—"Goodnight."

Waiting outside the kitchen is Sasha. She nervously twists at the hem of her dress, anxious for Ymir to show. At last, Ymir emerges from the twilight-darkened hall. Sasha dashes at her. "The king held a meeting with the hunter leader," she blurts.

"That Blondie? What'd he say?"

"Um… I didn't really get it." Sasha scratches her head. "He said something like he wanted another stone. I don't know what happened to the first one. Guess he didn't like it."

Ymir squints her eyes at Sasha, wondering how someone could have such a vacuous head and still function properly. Simple tasks like walking and breathing must be a real task for this airhead. "Alright, Potato-Girl. You're off the hook." Ymir dangles a sweet roll above her head. "Here's your reward."

Sasha bites the roll straight from Ymir's hand like an animal, and Ymir recoils just before her teeth can nip her fingers. "Thanks, Ymir." Then she scampers away, content with her prize.

Sasha didn't know what that Blondie had been talking about, but Ymir knows very well what he is after. Stuffing her hand in her pocket, Ymir pulls out a violet, ovular stone that extends the length of her palm. It pounds with a lively glow like a beating heart. Sauntering through the empty hall, she casually juggles the stone in a single hand, tossing it up and nonchalantly catching it, a smile playing at her mouth. Getting their hands on the Otherstone won't be as easy as those hunters thought…if they can even find it.


	7. It's Like Swimming In Stars

Here's a recap of what's going on:

There are two threats: First, there is the threat of war between humans and Otherworlders. Second, there is the threat of the Shadow Realm. Erwin believes the Otherstone is the key to preventing war. Everybody thinks that King Fritz is in possession of the stone, even Fritz himself, and Armin found a stone labeled the Otherstone in one of the castle's locked rooms. But Ymir actually has the stone; she also claims to be the daughter of Ilse Langner, who looks similar to Ymir and whose bloodline is bound to serve the king (in the manga, a titan mistook Ilse Langner for Ymir; that is where I got that character from). Eren and Levi's dragon rider link has opened, and Eren has pledged his loyalty to Levi.

* * *

_A few days later…_

A fireball whizzes past Eren's muzzle. _Whoa, that was a close one!_ Eren laughs as he launches toward the aggravated dragons charging him. He corkscrews the air, barreling, side over side over side; then the instant that he should ram with one, he whips his tail in an abrupt change of direction like an oar, veering above the dragon's back, belly-up—and Levi drops, somersaulting into a crouch on the dragon's shoulders. Levi's twin swords are belted to his back in a crisscross; the dragon eyes implanted in the hilts shine radiantly. Levi takes his time. He strolls—to the top of the dragon's head.

"You won't mind if I"—he whips out his swords—"take your eyes, right?" He doesn't wait for an answer and jams the blades in its eye sockets. The dragon thunders, and Levi yanks his swords loose, blood spraying. Blind and racked with pain, the dragon squawks, confusedly snapping its jaws at empty air in the unlikely chance that it will snag something worthwhile.

Levi is a contrasting sight of nonchalance midst chaos as he untucks a cloth folded in his pocket, flicking his wrist, then meticulously wiping the blood dripping down the hilt of his left hand sword till it is spotless. "You know…" he offhandedly mutters, "that brat might not be the most reliable guy, but I haven't fallen yet. So that's something." He keenly examines his blade to make certain he hasn't missed a single drop of dragon's blood before sheathing his swords in the crisscrossing scabbards on his back—then he steps into empty air.

Eren feels a weight contact his shoulder blades. Knowing that it is Levi, he takes off again. _You didn't kill it,_ Eren points out.

_'It'll crash itself,' _Levi replies._ 'The others will handle it.'_

Initially Eren and Levi had clashed, but now their thoughts are synchronized, echoing one another. There are three more dragons, and Eren beelines, spiraling toward the first one, while Levi takes out a hook and vaults swift like an arrow to its back. He tears up its backbone, dragging the hook as he goes, uprooting layers of scales. When he reaches the dragon's head, he quickly ropes its neck, then intersects Eren on his return spiral, catching a stirrup strap and effortlessly swinging his weight back into the saddle. Their movements and timing are in harmony. Eren bites the chain and tugs. The dragon's head detaches from its shoulders, popping out like a sparkling wine cork. Dragon ashes fleck the air.

Eren darts past the next dragon in line, and Levi descends from the saddle to take it down himself. Eren's responsibility is the last one. He tackles it from above and they wrestle in the sky, revolving one another, slamming their forefeet into each other's chests. Eren roars and clamps his fangs in dragon meat. Hot blood pours into his mouth—he has to suppress the urge to gag. He rips out muscle, and a screech pierces his ears. One more time, Eren bites the dragon's throat, delivering the final blow, shredding a vital artery. Dragon scales start to flake, and Eren spits out blood and flesh. _Ick… _Dragon meat tastes the way fish smell.

Making a U-turn, Eren sees that Levi has already finished his dragon. Eren was too slow—Levi is riding crumbling dragon on a route to the ground. Eren gasps, immediately nose-diving after him. The dragon is nothing but flecks of ash, and Levi is freefalling, facedown, his cloak blustering like a tail. He is only fifteen meters from making impact. Eren maneuvers beneath him; Levi seizes the saddle.

_'Took you long enough,'_ he mutters, unperturbed that he was a few moments from splashing into the earth._ 'I thought I might die.'_

_I wouldn't let that happen, _Eren tells him. _Sorry for such a close call… _

Eren takes to the sky in the direction of the squadron. They are a team of galloping figures riding the bounding hills, and Eren cruises next to them.

"Nice work, Eren!" shouts Hanji, shooting a thumbs-up. She races under his stomach, her hunter's cloak flaying, her glasses traded out for goggles that are secure around her head. "Wahooooo!" She weaves her horse tightly, enjoying herself. The dragon Levi injured finally drives into the ground, making impact like an anchor. "That one's mine!" she cries, sprinting on.

"Hanji!" calls Erwin. "Don't act on your own!" But she is already too far ahead to hear him—that, or she ignores him.

Levi stands on the saddle, one boot propped on the horn as he unbuckles the network of belts across his chest. He slides his cloak from his shoulders, then wraps his swords in a bundle. "Oluo." He tosses the makeshift pack, and Oluo panics, clumsily fumbling like it is sizzling hot. When Oluo gets a better handle of it, his panic subsides and he exhales in relief.

"Take care of my weapons," Levi orders. "Got it?"

"Yes, si—!" He accidentally bites down on his tongue and blood dribbles his lip.

Petra gives Oluo a hopeless look. "You idiot..."

Levi reclaims his seat, patting Eren's neck as signal for him to set out, and Eren obliges. He sails overtop white clouds that are plush and ripened, as seasoned cotton. The pure whiteness reminds Eren of fresh snowfall. He drags his talons through and it divides like a slit in linen.

_Where do you wanna go?_ Eren asks.

_'Higher.'_

Eren can definitely go higher. Much higher. He makes a sharp incline, swishing his tail. Up and up and up, he climbs the atmosphere. Thin air stirs in a coil around him like a tunnel, cool vapor slicking his skin in dewdrops, making glistening trails down his scales. Eren reaches a highest most point and falls on his back as if breaching from the sea. A moment he is floating, neither flying nor falling. Weightless. And Levi releases the handles of the saddle, allowing gravity and airstream to cleave him from the leather seat, closing his eyes, drifting in the winds.

Eren circles him. _How does it feel to fly, dragon hunt—rider?_

The breezes cry in Levi's ears, his clothes flurrying, hitting his skin, his hair fluttering on his forehead. He is unattached, unbound. Free. Clear blue sky embraces him and he races into sunlight, soft and warm, a dark figure rayed by yellow. There is nothing that holds him down. Every weight, every shadow dissipates. If this is falling, then he will keep falling for as long as he can. If this is flying, then it is…

_'…Not bad.'_

Eren grins and positions for Levi to mount. Levi takes the handles, pulling himself in place, landing in the seat. Then Eren pans level. An idea hits him.

_You know…, _begins Eren, _my wings aren't only good for the sky._ He glides low, whizzing past rocky, grassy plain. It abruptly ends at a cliff—and Eren dives, wings folded, point-blank for the ocean. It is a rush, the wind blowing his face and the steep drop. The whitecaps are louder and louder, crashing and rolling. The draft of saltwater grows stronger. Sunlight coruscates off the surf, dazzles flashing, bright and excitable. Eren surges ahead, faster—

_'Stop—!' _

_Ack! _Eren cries out in shock. The command is booming in his head. It is all that he hears, all that he thinks and feels. He has no say over his own actions. He hears _Stop! _a thousand times at a thousand volumes. He stops. Freezes. His entire body locks up, muscles seized, wings reverted back in his shoulders; he is a projectile aimed straight for the sea. Is this the true control that a dragon rider has?

Then the ocean engulfs them. Eren sinks, plunging into the depths. His sense of direction alters from its axis. He might be washed upwards or he might be swimming sideways. He isn't sure. Someway, though, he manages to flail his legs and break surface, sucking in a giant gulp of air. His throat is raw. Each breath is grating in his windpipe, making him cough and gasp. His nose is on fire and leaking painful saltwater.

"What was that?!" he breathlessly snaps at Levi. "Why did you…?" But Eren is alone. He scans the water and doesn't see Levi. Eren's stomach pits. "Captain—?"

Eren chokes. Suddenly, his lungs are being gnarled and squeezed. He can't breathe! Water floods his lungs, filling them up. Unconsciousness seeps into his peripheral, and his eyelids feel like weights. He realizes that he is drowning! No... It isn't Eren who is drowning. Diving back into the water, Eren frantically searches for Levi. Eren's mind is heavy, which means Levi has limited time—

Then Eren's ankle is strongly grabbed. He is yanked deeper as Levi struggles with him. It is a fight of grappling limbs, biting seawater, and darkening minds. Bubbles blind Eren. Pressure makes it hard to think. He is acting on pure instinct. Finally Eren gets a good hold of Levi's bicep and semiconsciously swims them to the surface. Levi upchucks ocean water, going lightheaded, almost sinking under the surface again, and Eren has to hold him up, furiously treading and bobbing to keep them above surface. Levi has a firm hold on Eren's neck, his full weight dragging Eren down. Eren treads harder. He has to get them to land before they both drown!

He paddles towards shore, with Levi's arms leashed around his neck, his body riding Eren's wake. Levi's pulse is so rapid that Eren hears it roaring like a waterfall, and he shallowly huffs in Eren's ear. Once his breath is under control and his pulse is more like a steady flowing stream, Levi doesn't loosen his embrace, but he is wrought with discomfort. Eren can feel it in the tautness of his shoulders. Now they are both painfully aware that Levi is clinging to human Eren, and that feels very different than if he were holding onto dragon Eren.

"So…" Eren begins. "You can't swim." He senses Levi bristle, so he is hasty to add, "but that's okay! A lot of people don't know how."

Levi's voice is a mutter pitched low in Eren's ear. "It wasn't necessary." In silence, Levi lets Eren stroke them closer to the white-sand shore, watching the way his hands gracefully pull through the currents, feeling the way his long legs pilot them forward. Then he releases Eren's neck and propels himself the remaining distance, smoothly sweeping his arms and legs in a similar manner.

Eren's jaw hangs. His mouth opens and closes as if to say something, but he is so completely dumbfounded that he has a mental hiccup. "I thought you didn't know how to swim!" he sputters at last.

It is shallow enough to stand, and Levi trudges up the inclining beach shelf. "I didn't."

"So you just _magically_ gained the ability?" Eren's tone is cynical. Has Eren been duped? Was Levi faking? Why would Levi toy with Eren's emotions that way?

"No. I watched the way you did it." He looks at Eren. "Because of you, I learned to swim. You've been helpful."

Eren starts in surprise. "S-Sure—You're welcome." He doesn't feel like he did much, though. People can't typically watch someone do something for a few minutes and flawlessly emulate it on the first try. That is a unique skill, probably one that is unique to Levi only. Boots sloshing and clothes claustrophobically pasted to every curve of his body, Eren follows Levi up the slope. "You learn by watching people. Does that mean you're self-taught? In combat, I mean."

Levi rakes his fingers through his dripping hair, impatiently combing it out of his eyes. "Not really."

Even though Eren is curious what Levi means by that, he doesn't goad the question further. "You just learned to swim." He nods his chin at the cliff-edge they had fallen down. "There's a place I want to show you."

"What sort of place?" Levi sounds skeptical.

"Don't worry. It's a good place." Eren tugs the back of his sopping shirt over his head, carelessly dumping it in the sand. Then he kicks his boots aside as well. "But we have to swim to get there."

* * *

Entry: The Mystic

A mystic is a type of Otherworlder that is able to use, at will, a power derived directly from the heart of the Otherworld. They are incredibly rare, possibly the rarest of all types of Otherworlders. Most notably, mystics can summon an embodiment of purity and light in the form of what is known as will-o'-the-wisps. Will-o'-the-wisps have healing capabilities but will only attend to those without dishonest or immoral intent.

By nature mystics are virtuous and benevolent beings, with a strong respect for life and greatly value their companions. If not kept in check, however, a mystic can succumb to dark tendencies. Without an appropriate environment, a mystic may reject the Otherworld and will-o'-the-wisps for a dark power cultivated from the **Shadow Realm** (see entry). A mystic who uses shadow is then not a mystic but becomes its malevolent counterpart known as a **shade** (see entry).

No matter which form that a mystic takes, he or she will be drawn to beings that have an internalized light source. Dragons, more specifically **dragon shifters **(see entry), are especially appealing to mystics. A mystic will instinctively treasure such a light source, while a shade will desire to stifle it.

Recorded by J.R.G

* * *

"It says that the Otherstone seems alive," Armin reads from the Otherbook, "as if it has a heartbeat." He looks at Hanji, who had been passing by, a bunch of scrolls gathered in her arms. "Is that accurate?" Armin is alone with her in the hunters' guesthouse, sitting at their table, skimming through the Otherbook.

She pauses with her heap of scrolls. "Well, I guess we wouldn't know if it's true or not. We've never seen the Otherstone in person. Why do you ask?"

"There's a room inside the castle. I got an Otherworld sensation coming from it, so I broke in and found a bunch of Otherworld relics…including something labeled the Otherstone."

Hanji's eyebrows shoot to her hairline. "You found the Otherstone?"

"I don't know," says Armin. "This description is all wrong. It didn't glow or look alive. If anything, it looked like it had died. I'm wondering if the king is only under the impression that he has the Otherstone."

Hanji sits down, letting the scrolls tumble from her arms onto the tabletop. "You think it's a fake?"

"I don't think it's the Otherstone," Armin says. "But I don't get the feeling that it's an ordinary rock, either. I don't know what it is exactly." He traces his forefinger at the bottom of the page. "Who is J.R.G?"

"That's a good question"—her eyes brighten and she sucks in a large inhale; then she releases it in defeat—"…that I don't have the answer to."

"When you found the Otherbook, did you see a man while you were in the Shadow Realm?"

Something flickers across Hanji's face, but Armin doesn't quite catch it. "Hmm? Yes, we did. Why?"

"Did he have long hair and glasses?"

"What are you getting at, Armin?"

"Eren's father would frequently disappear to the Otherworld. He was kind of like you," he tells Hanji. "He believed that documentation and a common understanding of the Otherworld was important. But he disappeared after the Great Divide. I thought that if lost things could be found in the Shadow Realm, it might be possible for lost people to be found there, too. His name was Grisha Jaeger, which could fit if the middle initial stood for the final letter in Jaeger… J.R.G."

Hanji interlaces her fingers, contemplating Armin's theory. "You think Eren's father contributed to the Otherbook?"

"Maybe. The man that you saw, what did he look like?"

She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "It was Levi, actually. That's where Erwin and I first met him."

Armin is surprised. "What was he doing there?"

"You were correct thinking that lost people can turn up in the Shadow Realm," she says. "That's precisely what happened to Levi."

* * *

Eren glides his hands through the water, easing into the darker and colder depths. He twists his head back. Strands of Levi's dark hair weave in the changing currents, and trickling breath bubbles from his mouth and nose. Eren signals that they swim farther. He flutters his legs, powering through the tides. Eren can feel the pressure of collapse in Levi's chest. Being human, he has a narrower air supply than Eren. It is a good thing they are approaching their destination.

Eren points up, and they change direction, surfacing. Eren pops his head out the water, shaking water from his hair; it falls in clumps on his temples. Then Levi's head emerges.

They have reached the inside of a grotto where sunlight shines in such a way that it rays from below the surface, refracting upward as if the ocean has swallowed the sun, lighting up the entire cavern in vivid azure. Eren and Levi are treading in liquid sky.

Eren watches Levi as he surveys the place. His frowning mouth softens slightly. The deflected blue light shines through his moistened eyelashes, casting fine shadows on his brow-bone. His face appears more angular, the hollows of his cheeks exaggerated, his jaw stronger, sharper; and his colorless eyes are reflective like glass, shimmering bright, bright blue. A merging of sky and ocean is in his eyes.

"Is this part of the Otherworld?" asks Levi.

Eren shakes his head. "This realm has its beauty, too, you know."

"The water's glowing."

"It's just sunlight," Eren tells him. "It's pretty magical though, right?" Then he swims on his side to a bank of rock. He climbs on top and sits, legs folded under him. "At night it's like swimming in stars."

"You can't swim in stars."

Eren props his chin in the heel of his hand, smiling at Levi, who is still treading in place where they surfaced, a shadow in luminous blue. "If you could, though."

Levi glides to the bank and joins Eren. Water trickles down his light skin, collecting drops at his collarbones. He reclines on his hands, a knee curled. "Is this your den?"

Eren snorts. "I guess you could think of it that way."

"Do you also bring unsuspecting women here to commit lewd acts with? I imagine it'd serve well for that purpose."

"_Wh-What?_"

Levi is expressionless. "Can't take a joke?"

Eren's neck warms all the way to his face, and he inelegantly forces a laugh. "No—I mean, yeah. I knew you were kidding." He ducks his head and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, internally cringing, thinking himself an idiot. "Actually…I haven't brought anyone here before. Not even Armin and Mikasa."

"…" Levi presses his back on the grotto wall, and Eren lies down, a hand improvising as a pillow, staring up at the glittering minerals on the ceiling. "Are your friends the only people you have?" Levi asks him.

"Yeah." Eren makes a hard grimace, rolling on his side and curling up a little. "The day of the Great Divide, my mom… She didn't make it out of the house." It was like the whole sky came crashing down when the Otherworld separated from the human realm. The entire earth was vastly disturbed, and the Jaeger household couldn't withstand the intense quaking; the roof fell in, right on Eren's mom.

"As for my dad…I don't really know what happened to him. That morning, he left…" Eren closes into himself, shutting his eyes. "I never saw him again."

It is quiet, then Eren cracks his eyes open. "But the three of us…Armin, Mikasa, and me…we were together. We ended up okay." He tilts his head to look at Levi. He is silently staring at the water, with a distant look. And Eren wonders where his thoughts have taken him. Eren could find out by accessing their link, but he would feel wrong intruding on Levi that way. So he lets Levi's mystery remain. "I guess we should get back soon, huh?" The hunters are supposed to dine with the king and aristocrats this evening. Eren isn't particularly looking forward to it, but Erwin insisted that they attend: This would be their chance to appeal to the nobles.

"…Yeah."

"Is this banquet important or something?"

"Who knows." Levi slips from the bank into the water. "We do what Erwin says, no questions asked. Erwin is always ahead of everyone else, so the reason doesn't matter. It's a matter of getting the job done."

* * *

Armin attempts to pass through the castle's gates but a sentry stops him. "Hold it. This is a private party," he firmly says. "Only nobles are permitted entry."

Stepping back, Armin deliberates his options. If he can't get through the front gates, then he might be able to get through a side entrance. But the other entrances are probably guarded as well. Armin isn't the best climber, so scaling the walls is out of the question. Two boys come up behind him and the sentry nods them through. One of the boys notices Armin. "Hey, you're that dragon freak's friend." Armin scans the boy, then recognizes him from the day of the tournament. He had provoked Eren and showed unconcealed distaste for Otherworlders. The boy searches the yard. "Is the girl with the black hair here, too?"

Armin shakes his head. "No…"

The boy shrugs. "Whatever." He climbs the stairs with his tall, freckled friend. A sentry opens the door, granting them admission.

Another option has come to light. "Wait!" Armin calls before they can go inside. "I can introduce you to her."

Jean pauses, considering it, then tells Marco that he will meet up with him later. He faces Armin, arms folded over his chest. "And why would you do that?" he asks suspiciously.

"Can you get me inside?"

"I can, yeah." Jean turns a cheek. "But I'm not."

"Why not?"

"They'll only let you in if you're someone's date, and there's no way in hell I'm—"

"Please," Armin quickly says. "I'll make this as painless as possible. It's important that I get inside. If you do this for me, I promise to tell Mikasa how you helped me out."

Jean thinks about it. He remembers how black that girl's hair was; it had shined an undertone of blue in the sun. And her skin had been creamy and smooth as if she were a ceramic doll. Jean imagines how she will react when she learns he helped her friend. She will undoubtedly see him as a chivalrous hero and shower Jean with affection. "Fine. I'll get you in."

Armin approaches the sentry, this time Jean in the lead. "This is my date," Jean tells the sentry.

The sentry is unconvinced. "Your date is a boy?" That noticeably ruffles Jean, and Armin shies partly behind him, linking their arms. The sentry does a double-take. "My apologies, sir. I'm mistaken." He nods his head at Armin. "Miss." Then he waves them on. "The king welcomes your company."

The doors shut behind them and Jean snatches his arm free from Armin's grasp. "That moron thought you were a woman." That sentry must be half-blind!

"It isn't unusual for people to mistake me for a girl." Jean just stares, not knowing what to say. Then Armin thanks him for his help, promises to tell Mikasa about it, and makes his way to the East wing.

"Wait," calls Jean. "Where're you going?"

"There's something I need to do."

Jean catches his elbow, spinning him around. "Hold it, Otherworlder. There're rules here. You can't just do whatever you want."

"I know," Armin says. "I don't intend to cause trouble…but I have to see something."

"I don't know what you think is so important, but I'm telling you—whatever it is forget about it."

"I can't…" Armin keeps walking.

Jean groans, throwing his hands up and shaking his head. "I can't believe this." He follows after Armin.

Armin comes to the door from before. It is closed like it was the first time; and when Armin jiggles the handle, it is locked. Once again, Armin pushes up his sleeves and braces his shoulder to break it open.

"Hold on." Jean irritably shoulders him aside. "I'll do it." He swings up a leg. Too late Armin notices sounds coming from inside.

"Wait—!"

Jean kicks the door in. It explodes open—to a crowd of wide-eyed aristocrats that are in lanes snaking the showcases of Otherworld relics. Armin and Jean share an uneasy look, petrified. The people in the room are silent, dazed, perplexed, blinking at the two; then a shouting guard moves time forward. "You're not allowed here!" Someone grabs Armin, someone else takes Jean's elbow, and the aristocrats gawp, still dazed and perplexed.

"Get your hands off me!" barks Jean. "Don't you realize who I am?" The guard hesitates. "It's Kirstein! Jean Kirstein!"

"That name's familiar…"

"Yeah, I'm one of"—he gestures at the aristocrats—"these guys."

The guard that has Armin pushes Armin's hair back, presenting his tapered ear. "What is an aristocrat's son doing accompanying an elf?"

"I'm not," is Jean's kneejerk retort. _So he's an elf…_

Overhearing the fuss, the other aristocrats close in to get a better view of Armin and break out in excited chatter.

"An elf? It is! It's an elf!"

"I thought they fled deep in the wood."

"They're rare to come by these days."

"How much for it?"

The guard hooks Armin's chin, tilting his face from side to side. Their faces are too close. Armin feels his hot breath. "What's your name?"

Armin can hardly crack a tremble. "Armin…"

"Armin? Isn't that a boy's name?"

"It's lying," says an aristocrat, "to deter us. What kind of boy has skin that fine? Elves are tricky."

"No, it's the truth," he stammers. Armin looks at Jean, hoping that he will say something. But Jean is bewildered to silence by the drastic turn events have taken.

Then the guard crumples Armin's ear—a pang shoots to the side of his head like a migraine. He makes a pained sound. "Honestly, I don't care what you are, boy or girl." His clutch on Armin's ear loosens and he strokes the sensitive arch, up and down and up again, and Armin screws his eyes shut, gnawing on his bottom lip, hard—so hard that he tastes blood.

The guard is stroking one of Armin's most sensitive spots. Armin can feel his rough fingers at every part of him. Never has Armin let anyone touch his ears…except Eren. One time he let Eren feel them because Eren had asked out of curiosity, without knowing how intimate the act really was. It wasn't uncomfortable or indecent, though; it was okay because Eren was a good friend that Armin trusted wholeheartedly. But this guard…Armin doesn't know. His hands are foreign and forceful and calloused, and Armin wants to fall through the floor. He wishes Eren were here. He _really, really_ wishes Eren were here…

"She's blushing! How charming!"

Fumbling Armin's chest, an aristocrat burrows his face in Armin's hair. "She even smells lovely." Hands, so many of them, fondle Armin's face, his hair, his ears, assaulting and groping, and Armin wants to shrivel smaller and smaller and smaller.

Jean can't stand the expression of absolute fear and torment on Armin's face, his flaming cheeks, his teary eyes, his head twisted as far from the guard as his neck will allow. "H-Hey! Wait a second!" At last Jean comes out of his stunned stupor. "You can't touch him like that! He's a freaking _GUY _for crying out loud!" _The hell is wrong with these people? _Are they so sexually frustrated that anything in sight is worth panting after? "Not that it'd be any better if he was a girl! You can't go around _molesting_ people! There are laws for that sort of thing!"

"He's an Otherworlder."

Jean stiffens, then he is spouting nonsense. "But that doesn't mean you can have your hands all over him!" Oh, man, what is Jean doing…? Why won't his mouth friggin' stop, already? Hasn't he said enough? "What you're doing isn't right! He's a person!"

Another guard arrives at the scene, one of higher rank. "What's going on in here?" he demands. His eyes narrow disapprovingly on the guard feeling up Armin. "If the council finds out you touched an elf, they'll have you dismissed. Elves are off limits, you know that." Then this higher ranked guard steals Armin, twisting his arm unnaturally behind his back. "However, he's a trespasser. You're under arrest, elf." He roughly shoves Armin out the door, down the hall, and Armin stumbles, one foot tripping over the other.

And Jean chases after them, all the while cursing himself some more. "I kicked down the door! Me!" They ignore him. "Listen to me, dammit! Let him go!" Jean shouldn't have gotten himself into this. He is really regretting his decision of helping the elf.

* * *

Eren is zoned-out. The nobles and the king's council along with the hunters are dining together, chatting cheerily, in the castle's cushy, fireside dining hall. The coat that Eren is wearing is heavy and stiff on his shoulders. It was provided to him for this particular evening because he would be meeting lords and ladies; and "he must make a good impression," as Petra told him. He hopes this coat is doing its job because it is the most uncomfortable article of clothing that Eren has ever been forced to wear.

Levi is sitting at Eren's left side. He is attired more formally than usual too, with a cravat around his throat and a navy coat left unfastened, showing his silk, button-down shirt underneath. Erwin is closest to the king and council, also properly dressed. The rest of the hunters wear their usual hunting gear. Erwin thought it would give off a sense of their devotion to defending the kingdom.

Hanji has a group of nobles captivated by a story of one of their more dangerous dragon encounters. Her hands are animated, drawing histrionic shapes and circles in the air. People move their glasses from her reach. "…Then Levi killed it singlehandedly!" She makes a motion at him across the table. "He's even got the dragon's eyes!" The listeners murmur in amazement and ogle Levi, who is inattentively staring at the table's center, unsociable as ever. Eren's eyes wander to Levi's hand, riveted on his rider's mark. Eren has probably memorized each swirl that carves his flesh.

"So…Mister Jaeger, have you a sweetheart?"

Eren's wandering mind is yanked back to reality. "Sorry," he says, breaking his attention from the mark. "What was that?"

Across the table, the woman that spoke to him smiles. Her lips are coral, her cheeks rosy. She drinks from her wine glass, holding it delicately by the stem. "Surely you have a lover. You're young, glowing, strong."

Eren wants to scoff but doesn't. "When you're an Otherworlder, you can't risk exposure for things like romance."

She innocently purses her full lips. "No love interests at all?"

He senses heat blooming her skin, then understands the road this conversation is taking. He doesn't intend anything but beams charm anyway, going along with it. "There are plenty of beautiful women around, but you're the first to ask." He leans forward looking into her eyes in that soulful way he knows women love to lose themselves in. "So, to answer your question…I'm not sure yet." This woman is much older, but it is clear that she fancies him. Having a bit of fun, Eren forges his best smile. He hears her heart beat faster, and she flutters her long eyelashes and touches her hair like women do when they are playing coy.

_'What do you think you're doing?' _sharply cuts in Levi.

Eren doesn't break his compelling stare from the noblewoman. _The commander told us to be friendly._

_'Not that friendly. She has a husband. Don't cause trouble.'_

_She flirted with me first. _

_'I'm sure her husband will take that into consideration as he murders you.' _

Eren glances at the carefully groomed husband that sits nearby, enthralled in Hanji's dragon stories. He is taller than Eren and older, but he is only a human man. Eren could toast him with a mere sneeze. He snickers silently at the thought. Then he feels prickles on the left side of his face. He turns. Shadowed, silver eyes penetrate harshly into Eren—and he rapidly recoils, practically falling out of his seat. His heart rate flees as if he is in life-threatening peril. Levi's dark stare is unflinching. Eren sweats.

_'Be silent and eat your food. That's an order.'_

_Y-Yes, sir! _Eren slumps in his seat and pokes at his turkey leg with his fork, waiting for his heart to calm down. Being around Levi these past few days hasn't watered down the part of Eren that fears him. Eren thinks that he will always have a hint of fear around Levi. Eren breathes in deeply and then sighs. He is ready for dessert. The king must have the finest sweets. Maybe he will have Crème brûlée and powdered sugar puffs, molten chocolate soufflé and strawberry shortcake. _Mmm…_

The door opens, and someone enters, but Eren is too enraptured in his dessert fantasy to notice. "I apologize for the disturbance, Your Majesty," says a man. "This elf was caught snooping."

_Elf? _Eren drops his fork and turns his head. A guard has Armin restrained, wrenching his arm sharply behind his back, forcing him at the council.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" exclaims another voice in exasperation. "I was the one who kicked in the damn door!" Eren vaguely remembers this guy. It is the upper-class asshole from the tournament, the one that had called Eren a half-wit. He has a long face like a horse and ashy hair that is darker in color at the neck and sides.

"Jean Kirstein!" shouts a woman at the table's right end, who seems to be personally close with him. Maybe a relative. "Watch your mouth! Respect the king!"

Jean minds her a fleeting glance before dropping his head at the king. "Sorry, Your Highness."

The council exchange whispers, finalizing a verdict. One of them holds himself higher. "The elf will receive ten lashes for trespassing."

Eren erupts to his feet, slamming his hands on the table, causing cups to fall over and silverware to rattle. "You can't do that!" he roars. "It's not like he stole anything!"

"He's an intruder. There are consequences for trespassing."

"Will you punish the aristocrat's son too?" Eren demands. "He said he kicked down a door!"

Jean flinches, looking nervous. Eren expects him to bolt out the hall. But he doesn't. He stays. Eren takes in the faces around him. He sees the princess. She is hiding under her hair, avoiding Eren's eyes, and her freckle-faced caregiver indifferently inspects her fingernails, her cheek idly pressed into the palm of her hand. They aren't going to speak up. They are going to let Armin be unjustly punished!

Eren simmers. These people—these _humans_… they will do anything to make sure Otherworlders are caged. The world would be better off without them. War—perhaps it is unavoidable. Humans have it coming, and if that means the Shadow Realm will be overwhelmed, then they will just have to cross that bridge when they come to it. Eren's forearms ripple as his muscles clench and unclench; fire stokes in his stomach.

"What're you doing, dragon shifter?" nervously asks one of the noblemen, suspecting the darkening of Eren's thoughts.

Eren's eyes spark and his incisors sharpen. "I—"

_'Fight them if that's what you want,' _says Levi, and Eren's head whirls in his direction. Levi's attention is on the fragile teacup dangling from his fingertips. _'I won't blame you if you do.'_ Levi brings the golden-trimmed brim to his lips and tastes the king's imported black tea. He notes the quality of it before going on with what he had been saying. _'I realize it takes much effort for you to use the limited intellect you possess, and being half dragon doesn't help you with that, I'm sure. So go ahead. Give in to what you happen to be feeling. I wouldn't expect otherwise from someone like you.'_

Eren winces, struck hard by that. _If I don't do anything, they'll whip Armin! _

_'Correct, your elf friend has caused trouble.' _

Eren has to do something. Fighting would be the easiest way out, but Levi is right… It will only cause more trouble in the end. Eren won't let Armin be hurt. He would rather be whipped himself than see Armin be—

Eren snaps his head up at the king. The words are out his mouth before he fully thinks them through. "I'll bear his punishment."

The king doesn't react, but his council wanes. They exchange nervous looks and buzz under their breaths. Eren's hypersensitive hearing picks up their frantic whispers.

_"We can't let him take the elf's punishment. It'll make a martyr out of him." _

_"And now we can't punish the elf without looking like monsters!"_

_"Someone has to be punished, or they'll think we're fools…"_

_"They should both be punished. The elf for trespassing and the shifter for speaking out of turn."_

Then, as if it were a choreographed, Petra raises her hand and says, "I'll also bear his punishment."

Eren's eyes widen, and Petra offers a smile. _"We fight together,"_ she had said to him,_ "And you can be a part of that."_ Eld and Gunther raise their hands as well, and so does Oluo, however, unwillingly and cursing them all under his breath. Hanji's grin is closed-mouthed, chin tilted down, her eyes hidden under the glare of her glasses as her hand lifts to join the others.

Levi has his arms folded, a leg tossed over his knee, addressing the council. "Seems to me punishing them all would be more trouble than what it's worth," he says. "However, if you pardon the elf's suspicious behavior, then you can uphold your appearance as trustable yet simple-minded figureheads. Sounds pretty good, right?"

Plump Lord Balto takes offense. "Simple-minded! How dare—"

"I agree, dragon hunter," says the king. "This time we'll overlook his wrongdoing."

"Thank you for your tolerance," says Erwin. "I will ensure that this will not happen a second time."

Armin is released, and the charged atmosphere placates. Eren reclaims his seat. He hears Armin express gratitude to Jean, and Jean rolls his eyes, looking irritated. What was Armin doing here in the first place? Then Eren notices Hanji has been strangely quiet and is currently stirring at her vegetable broth, mute. Does she know? Then Eren looks at Erwin. He has fluently resumed casual conversation with the council and king. Lastly, Eren studies Levi. _"We do what Erwin says, no questions asked." _Eren decides to do the same and discards his doubts.

* * *

Is this a memory or a dream? Is this real?

…Or not?

Blinding darkness surrounds Levi. Overhead there is a void. No sky. He has to be somewhere…or maybe not? There is nothing before him and nothing behind. Nothing up…and nothing down. Just flat, substantial blackness, as though a moonless, starless night sky has been flattened and compacted beneath his feet and has left the atmosphere empty.

Levi knows this place, this netherworld: the Shadow Realm. He keeps walking further into this nowhere, because that is all he can do. Walking… Wandering… Lost… For an eternity.

Then, in the unknowable distance, he sees four people. Four shadows. Three are taller and the fourth is considerably smaller. He has seen them before. They will emerge occasionally beyond Levi as if they know him. But Levi doesn't know who they are, or, perhaps, he doesn't yet. Time…there is no such thing as time here. No past, present, or future. For all he knows, these people could one day be his friends or his enemies.

The petite one he has discerned as a woman, with auburn hair. He can't see their eyes. Shadows don't have eyes. And he won't be able to get any closer—he has tried. Whenever he gets too close, the shadows vanish like smoke. The woman smiles tenderly and her mouth moves, saying something, but she is voiceless. The dead are always voiceless—but they always seem to have something they want to say. Levi strains to read her lips.

_Don't forget,_ her lips say to him, _no regrets…_

Then their fists hit their chests in salutes.

* * *

The idea of Levi being able to imitate by watching other people came from the Birth of Levi manga. That's how he learned to kill titans.


	8. To Those Who Have Lost Hope

Thanks for reading.

* * *

Steam tufts rise from the hot bathwater. Eren slumps against the back of the wooden tub, his skin flaming to the concentrated heat. His knees stick out the top of the water; in the space between them, is a little floating toy carved into the shape of a ship. He taps the bow with mild interest, deep in thought. It glides on an adventure following his shins. The door opens and Petra comes in, another pail of heated, steaming water carted in her arms.

"Are you sure you want it this hot? I feel like your skin will boil."

"Dragon's can't burn," he says. "Or boil."

"Right, of course." She lugs the pail to him and pitches a stream into the tub. "I forget you're part dragon." The toy ship tosses in the riptide, as the water level rises to Eren's chest. He relaxes further, muscles limp, eyes closing.

Petra sets the half-emptied pail aside and kneels at the tub's back where Eren has his head resting. "You have an upset look."

Eren's eyelids part. He stares at the wall. The banquet, he realized, was a means for Eren to influence his less-than-golden reputation among the kingdom starting with the nobles, because whatever politics the nobles settle for trickles down to the rest. It is the way the state of affairs plays out. That is why it was essential for Eren to attend the banquet with Levi; it had been his chance to change people's minds, to convince them that he was different from the beast they assumed he was.

"They still believe I'm a monster," says Eren, "and I was supposed to prove them wrong tonight. That was my task." He sighs. "But I didn't. I frightened them more." Once again Eren let his emotions get the best of him. He had nearly charged into a fight without thinking. He failed.

"I don't think the banquet went exactly the way the commander planned," she admits, "but nothing ever goes according to what we want. We adjust. Your friend was in danger. Nobody blames you for speaking out."

"The captain does." Levi had wanted Eren to stay silent. At least, that is what Eren thought he wanted Eren to do. Now Eren isn't sure what Levi wanted. "With the rider link, I can hear what he's thinking…and his thoughts are harsh."

Petra stands, pushing her sleeves up her forearms. Then she reaches across the tub, stretching to her tiptoes to a shelf that is nailed to the wall. She takes a glass bottle of shampoo and unscrews the top. Eren smells coconut. "His expectations are set very high. He expects us to follow orders at every cost. I can't say whether or not he truly blames you. But, if he does, don't take it too hard. You're still young and have a lot to learn."

Eren pulls himself forward into a discouraged hunch. "Do you think that I was right to choose him?"

"Well…" Petra is back in a crouch at the tub's side, pouring shampoo in her hand. "I think that's up for you to decide." She lathers the soap in his thick hair soothingly. It froths and foams. "Are you having doubts?"

"No, that's not it." Petra's nails lightly rake his scalp, and Eren closes his eyes. The last person to wash his hair for him was his mother, and that was a long time ago. He has forgotten how good it feels. "He makes me uneasy."

"He has that effect on everyone. It isn't unusual for people to feel troubled because of him. He doesn't express himself delicately. You have to be able to determine whether he's insulting you or just trying to help." She chuckles softly, with a tender look in her eye. "Sometimes it's both."

Eren tightens his jaw. "I don't want to disappoint him—or anyone else, for that matter. I want to do what I can to the best of my ability. But what if that's not enough?" Eren doesn't know if he will ever be able to meet Levi's expectations.

Petra's soapy hand tucks under Eren's chin, turning his face to her. She smiles. "That's all we want, Eren. To ask anything more is too much." She gives his chin a lighthearted tap. Then she raises the pail to pour the rest of the water over his head, rinsing away the soap.

Empty bucket now in hand, she goes to the door. "Take your time, okay? Don't feel down. Even if you make mistakes, you have us to depend on. You don't have to bear the responsibility all on your own."

Eren gives her an appreciative smile. "Thanks." She returns his smile, then gives him privacy, shutting the door behind her.

After spending another long while in the bath, long enough that the water becomes tepid, Eren makes his way to their sleeping quarters. He towels through his wet hair and crosses in the direction of his bed. Levi is stretched over it, one knee dug in the mattress as he tidies the sheets. A white handkerchief is tied over his hair and he is clothed in a thin button-down.

"Captain?"

Straightening up, Levi turns to him, with a frown. "It's only been a few days, so I understand you aren't accustomed to the way things work around here. This time I've carried out your chores." He walks up to Eren, having to tilt his chin a little to look at him directly, arms crossed. "That being said, I expect you to clean your own bed in the future."

Eren flips his eyes to the wall. "Right. I'll do that. Sorry for inconveniencing you."

Levi studies him for a second, then seems to notice something. "…You're disappointed." He glances at Eren's bed. "Are the sheets not to your liking?"

"No! They're perfect," Eren quickly says. "Thank you. I'll do my own chores from now on."

Levi looks at him for too long. Eren internally squirms. "…That's good." He starts to pass, but pauses and wraps his fingers on Eren's shoulder. "With your help, we've been more effective fending off dragons. You've done well." He squeezes his shoulder, then strides to the door. "But your cleaning habits need considerable improvement."

The sheets are soft and smell of freshly cleaned linen, Eren's head is sunk deep in the feather-filled pillow, and the mattress is cozier than his own bed; even so he can't fall asleep. He is awake a long time—hours, thinking but not really thinking, in a barren state that is neither sleep, nor full wakefulness. He tosses one way, settling on his right cheek, then turns the other, nestling his left. Then he shoves his full face in the pillow in frustration.

Sleep trouble is a foreign issue for Eren. Usually within a few minutes of a pillow pressed to his cheek, he is gone to dreamland. To wake him up in the mornings, Mikasa would have to practically throttle him he would be so rapt in sleep. But lately, it has been a challenge to even get a wink of rest.

He sighs in defeat and pops his head up. The hunters had no trouble getting shuteye. The sounds of their heavy, regulated breathing and heartbeats occupy the room. Eren strains his ears for a certain heartbeat, one that pounds stronger, slower than the others. He can't find it. Eren cranes, roving the cramped placed—Levi isn't here. After throwing the blankets off, Eren then tiptoes across the room, silently slipping into the lounge. Levi isn't there either.

Eren strolls to the other side of the room—an afterglow of burnt-out embers cuts the inky blackness with an orange, crackled light from the fireplace, and Eren sees the outline of the Otherbook stacked on the dining table. He keeps walking, past the bookshelf lined with the bizarre collection of objects the hunters have acquired on their voyages. His eyes drift the shelves, toys, trinkets, jewelry, a pocket watch. Something catches his attention. A small, oval-shaped music box, wrapped in embossed gold sits on the top shelf. Eren carefully picks it up. On the lid's center is a tiny marble brilliant green like Eren's dragon eyes.

With his thumbs, he feels over the vintage floral design. Then he undoes the latch and winds the miniature key jutting from the side. It _ticks, ticks, ticks_, until the key won't budge any farther and Eren lets go. The key unwinds itself and a sweet tinkling plays softly like pattering raindrops. The melody is melancholic and somehow nostalgic, bringing forth a dull ache in Eren's chest, painfully pinching something inside him. It compels him into a trance that feels like dreaming or going back in time.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, motionless, as he is filled with images, memories of his childhood, of his mother and father, their voices as if they are speaking to him in present time. He feels his mother's gentle but scolding hands wiping blood from his mouth—a wound gained from exchanging punches with some kids in town. Eren brushes his lip that is currently unharmed, longingly feeling for his mother's fingers. He doesn't find them. Then the music stops. The images and sensations fade, then are gone altogether.

Swallowing hard, Eren shakes away the haunting effects of the reverie and quickly replaces the music box on the shelf as if it is venomous. The traces of regret and grief that have been spurred—he brushes off. Then the persisting hunt for his rider picks up again.

Darkness is dense in the halls, thick like fog, creeping, extending, as if walling Eren in. He trails through, his muffled footsteps echoing in the stillness. He doesn't know where he is going, where he is searching, or why he turns down whichever hall is the darkest. It is a gut feeling that he has to follow the shadows. They bring him to a stairway that he climbs, hands feeling the walls, stumbling blind. When he makes it to the top, he feels the flat surface of a door. His hand gropes for a knob; he locates it and turns it to an open rooftop.

Levi is a blotted silhouette against nightfall, sitting on the edge of the roof, one leg dangling freely and the other casually bent. He has a cloth in his hand, meticulously polishing a plain dagger with it. The door clicks shut behind Eren, and Levi turns the hilt, tilting the blade to look in the polished metal at Eren. Moonlight sheers off silver. Levi says nothing and continues wiping his blade as if Eren isn't there.

"It's really late and you left by yourself…" Eren hesitantly approaches. "Are you having trouble sleeping?"

Levi is fixated on his dagger. "I'm assuming that's why you're out here, too."

Eren hunkers down next to him, close but not too close, hugging his knees. "These past few nights, I've been restless. I can't seem to fall asleep, which has never happened to me before. Mikasa says I sleep like the dead."

The moon is full, pouring its soft, diffused light in silver-white beams, bathing them, illuminating Levi's skin, yet, under his dark hair, his eyes are obscured beneath a screen of murky shadow. "That so?" Levi holds his dagger close to his face, thoroughly examining it. "Should I tuck you in and kiss you goodnight? Would that help?"

Eren's face burns. "Ha… Good one." Levi's jokes make Eren uncomfortable.

"You think I'm kidding?"

Eren's mind whirls and he stumbles and stutters, while Levi maintains his straight face. _He's just messing with me…right?_

_'Idiot.'_

Eren's smile is tight. Keeping up with Levi's offbeat sense of humor is a challenge. "What about you? Is there something keeping you up?"

Levi stops cleaning and speaks slowly as if gathering his thoughts. "Each night…you go to bed believing that your friends will still be here tomorrow, right?"

"Er…yeah." Eren looks at Levi questioningly. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"That's what normal people say," he mutters. "They believe that their comrades will live through the night and through the next day. Most people sleep soundly with those thoughts." His eyes are hollow. "But I don't believe that." He resumes systematically cleaning his blade. "I think it's because I've seen too many strange things."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Eren admits. "I can only imagine what you've seen, being a hunter and all. Witnessing villages and people burn must be normal for you." Fire and smoke and nightmares must be what Levi and the other hunters face on a regular basis, fires and nightmares created by dragons.

Eren grimaces. "I understand why people think I'm a monster," he says. "And sometimes I think they could be right. I say things—_do_ things because something burns inside me that I don't always feel like I'm in control of. I feel as if there's fire in my chest, and fire can't be contained. It can only be smothered. It makes sense for people to want to chain me up." Eren laughs without humor and puts his chin on his kneecaps. "So I'm not normal either, am I?"

At first Levi says nothing, and Eren thinks that he is going to let the question hang heavily between them, then—"I've been around you. I've heard your thoughts, and so I've gained an understanding of what you are." Levi looks Eren in the eye. "You're a monster"—Eren sucks in a breath as if he has been punched in the gut—"…to those who have lost hope in this world." Then Levi absently looks off, draping an arm over his tucked knee. "And that's got nothing to do with you or what you are. Sprout wings and a tail, you're still just a brat. Chains are unnecessary."

Levi's voice is smooth, with an even tone that is silkier to Eren's ear than it would be to a human's. He can hear the inflections that drop out of human hearing range, and although Levi has a quieter voice than most people, it is a powerful one.

"Don't get me wrong. You're not normal. But your friends, the squadron—as much as they can be…they're with you, and that's because they're also not normal. Some of them are humans. Some are Otherworlders. However…despite it all, none of them are normal. We're a group of abnormal people, who have abnormal thoughts and do abnormal things, and who've seen strange things." Levi skillfully weaves his dagger between his fingers. "Feel like sleeping yet?"

"Is that why you're being talkative? Trying to put me to sleep with a long explanation?" The method is working. Levi's words were awkward and difficult to understand—Eren isn't sure he comprehended much of what Levi meant. Regardless, he has weakened Eren's insomnia.

"Don't be stupid. I'm a talkative person by nature."

Eren chuckles and sprawls on his back starfish-style. The sky is freckled and filled with starlight that shines like a million fireflies, flickering, twinkling, coldly, distantly. "I can't sleep if you don't sleep. It's definitely the link that's keeping me up. As long as you're awake, I'm awake too."

Levi's dagger-toying hesitates. Eren turns on his side and snuggles his head in the crook of his arm, balling up and closing his eyes. He listens to the sound of Levi's comforting heartbeat, breathing in silver birch and soap. "I chose you, but the pact wouldn't have worked if you hadn't chosen me back," he murmurs. "So thank you for that. Because of you…I can stay with Armin and Mikasa."

Levi is silent, and his heartbeat drums steady, rhythmic, hypnotic. Snuggling deeper, Eren begins to drowse and is soon lulled into a quiet place.

Eren hasn't said anything for a while, and when Levi looks at him, he sees that Eren has fallen asleep, face relaxed in its entirety, no furrow, no fire. Levi can see his own sleeplessness in the heavy bags beneath Eren's eyes. Tucking his dagger in the back of his pants, Levi drags himself to a crouch.

Eren's lightly tanned skin looks warm to the touch like he has retained some of the sun's heat. Without considering his actions, Levi reaches, wondering if it feels the way it looks. His fingers brush Eren's cheek. Their skin makes contact—and sizzles. Levi flinches, as Eren makes a restless noise without wakening. Levi rubs his fingertips together curiously. Eren's skin isn't warm. It is _hot_ while he is sleeping.

Careful not to touch Eren's skin directly with the sleeves of his shirt to help, Levi slides his arms beneath Eren's knees and shoulders, hoisting him from the roof. He carries Eren back to the guesthouse, navigating through the array of beds towards Eren's added bed smashed to the wall to fit. He lays Eren down and removes his boots, then tugs the blankets over him. For a moment, he watches Eren sleep. _He chose you out of everyone else, _Hanji had said_, …aren't you flattered?_ And at the time, Levi hadn't thought about it. His initial reaction had been to dismiss anything about dragon riding. But now he wonders why. Why would Eren choose him?

Levi studies the mark on his hand. In the absence of light, the swirls are black like ink spatters on his flesh. His fingers double into his palm, brushing the crumples and ridges. Levi chose Eren back, but that uncertain feeling from the beginning only grows stronger each day. He can't take back his choice, but he wonders if it was the right one.

* * *

Entry: The Dragon Shifter (Part One)

A dragon shifter has an internalized light source that fuels its strength and supplies it with life. If too much time is spent away from sunlight or another type of light source, a dragon shifter will grow ill and feeble. Prolonged darkness can be fatal. Most dragon shifters will avoid darkness at any costs and even fear the absence of light.

However, dragon shifters also have the ability of fire-breath and, with this ability, can counter the threat of shadow and darkness. Nevertheless, fire-breath is limited while shadow is eternal. All things considered, elusion is safest.

* * *

Jean can't believe it. Here he is again, helping that elf in hopes that he can make friends with the black-haired girl. Armin explained to Jean why he needed to get inside the castle yesterday—he had been on a mission to retrieve a dark violet stone that was locked away. But because they were caught, the mission was a failure. Still, they need the stone. That is why Jean is marching back to that room, this time with Marco as his sidekick.

"Tell me again why we're stealing from the king?" Marco says as they briskly walk.

"We're not stealing. We're borrowing without asking. Besides, he has enough junk. He won't even notice."

Marco laughs. "Okay then, why are we borrowing?"

"So I can impress Mikasa."

"And Mikasa is the girl that's in love with Eren."

"_Whoa!_" Jean stops in his tracks. "Who the hell is Eren?"

"You know, the dragon shifter."

"She's _not_ in love with the dragon freak. They're _friends_."

Marco's eyebrows wrinkle in puzzlement. "Really? I thought it looked like she had a thing for him…"

Jean snaps, "No. You're wrong," then keeps speed walking.

_BOOOOOM!_

An explosion comes from the East wing. Jean and Marco exchange quizzical looks, then race in its direction. They arrive at the door that Jean had kicked in, and from the crack under it, smoke curls upward like talons clawing the wood. This time Jean doesn't have to kick in the door; it deteriorates on its own.

Inside, fire devours the floor in a flash of scorching flame, crackling and spitting, and quickly begins burning the furniture, licking the display cases. The glass bursts, one-by-one, overwhelmed by the trembling heat. Plumes of black-gray smoke wind to the ceiling like giant, hungry serpents.

Jean _cannot_ believe the stupidity he is about to act upon. "Marco…" he grumbles. "I'm going in."

"Wait!" Marco makes a grab for him but isn't quick enough. "Jean!"

Storming inside, Jean tears through the flames. The fire beats him back, as a wall of intense heat that threatens to burn his lungs, cooking him inside and out. Then he sees it: the stone Armin had been talking about. Jean kicks the glass of the display case. It breaks in showering shards and he grabs the stone.

Heaving with smoke-chafed lungs, Jean staggers into the hall, doubling over and seeing spots, cradling his prize. "Jean!" Marco grabs his arm, wrapping it around his shoulders to support his weight.

"That elf…better pay me…back…for this," Jean mutters. "Next time I'll ask for a higher price."

Marco hurriedly ushers Jean down the hall before the guards spot them. It won't be good if they are seen at the site of the crime. "It's really unlike you to help someone else," he says, "especially Otherworlders. Peasant Otherworlders, too…"

Jean scoffs. "Mikasa will definitely notice me."

"Why don't you just talk to her instead of going through all this trouble to help her friend? You even ran through fire for him. Isn't that a little extreme?"

Jean pockets the bizarre, pain-in-the-ass rock. "The more extreme, the better I'll look."

_To who? The girl or the elf?_ "I dunno," says Marco. "It doesn't make much sense to me."

"Shuddup. My strategy is foolproof."

Marco grins. "Okay, if you say so."

* * *

Christa and Ymir watch the guards clear out the rubble from the fire. Guards dart left and right in a panic. "What do you think happened?" asks Christa.

"Obviously someone set the room on fire." Without interest, Ymir watches the guards' frantic attempts to save the worthless Otherworld items that they think actually cost something. But Ymir knows better. What they had was junk, except for one thing. "The only thing of any value in that room was the Shadowstone. And I bet whoever did this meant for the stone to burn."

"Why? Is it bad?"

"You could say that. It keeps a passage between the Shadow Realm and the human realm open," Ymir explains. "We're able to cross into the Shadow Realm because of it and vice versa, which can cause serious problems if too many shadows pass through."

Christa stares. "How do you know so much?"

Ymir shrugs. "I've been around a while."

"How long?"

"That's rude, Princess." The corner of Ymir's mouth pulls in a crooked smirk. "You don't ask a lady her age." Christa waits for an answer, unfazed, and Ymir slides her arm around her small shoulders, guiding her away from the commotion. "How about the next time my birthday comes around, I'll tell you."

* * *

Beyond the castle walls, a thriving wood stretches on and on like an endless horizon of jade in the spectacular sunshine. Eren is transfixed by the passing lush forestry below as he glides, headed for the mountains. Then he feels something, a pull like gravity. He makes a shallow dive.

_'What is it, Eren?' _Levi asks.

_There's something down there. I know we had more training planned, but can we check it out first?_

_'I can agree to that as long as you work hard.'_

_Understood._

Eren descends to a clearing wide enough for him to land without colliding into treetops. Then Eren sees it—a freshwater spring. The water is cyan blue as if crystal has been melted to fill the banks of pure white, so quiet that the breeze is a murmur, and so tranquil that it is as if Eren and Levi are the only two people in this realm and the next. They are the only two in existence. They are the only two that have ever existed.

Sunbursts glimmer in the depths, and in an instant, Eren is splashing, wading, shattering the serenity. He sticks his head under the water as he plods along, blowing bubbles and naively disturbing the smooth surface.

_'Eren.'_

His head shoots out, streaming water, vapor misting from his nose as he exhales. _This is a part of the Otherworld. _Eren flops, sending waves rolling to the banks. It feels a lot like the healing effects of will-o'-the-wisps, bliss, ecstasy, a remedy to worldly suffering.

Levi slips off his boots, shrugs out of his cloak, and rolls up his pant legs and sleeves. His bare feet enter the water, white grains piling around his toes. And Eren waits for it—the release of the burdens that noticeably load Levi's shoulders. He wades to Eren. The circles under his eyes are still prominent and his shoulders are still tense. There is no release.

Eren slowly goes to meet him halfway. _You don't feel it…do you?_

"Feel what?"

Breathing out vapor, Eren sighs and nudges Levi's shoulder. _I hoped the spring would bring you pleasure. I wanted to see the shadows on your face disappear._

Levi's eyes vigilantly sweep the perimeter and his mouth is stiffer. _'Shadows?' _

_You get this dark look that's really scary sometimes. But other times…it's tragic and painful to look at. _

That makes Levi go still and give Eren a sober look. Levi isn't an Otherworlder, so the soothing properties of the spring have no effect on him. But at least he isn't wearing that scary, dark look…or the tragic, shadowy one. The shimmer of the spring brings light to his face.

"Turn around."

Eren does as he is told, and Levi unbuckles the saddle, drawing it off.

_What're you doing? I need that._

"For now, we're taking a break."

Eren tosses his head, shaking out his muscles like horses will do. _I like that plan._

The enchanted saddle is so large that Levi has to carry it on his back as he hauls it to the bank. When he returns to Eren's side, Eren has his head stuck in the water again, bubbles gurgling to the surface. Sometimes, Levi has noticed, Eren acts childish, and other times Eren acts much older than his age. In most instances, Eren's childish behavior can vex Levi's patience. But right now, Levi doesn't mind it.

The water is at Levi's waist and reaches Eren's belly. And sunlight streaking through the canopy of treetops dapples Eren's scales, shining rich green, then ocean blue, then green and blue combined. Levi strokes his smooth, sleek shoulder, following the curves of his dragon muscle.

Eren's head lifts out of the water, raining. His nostrils flare with each great, rumbling breath, gusting air and mist. His dragon gaze is upon Levi, seeming to pierce right through him, as though focused on something within or beyond him, warming him to the marrow. Eren's eyes are familiar, the mixture of green and blue and gray. They are the sea. They are the sky. They are Eren's eyes—boy Eren, human Eren.

Eren's rumbles are like soft, rolling thunder, guttural, echoing deep within him. Eren lowers his head to Levi's level. He doesn't have horns but ears instead, and he also lacks spines; his body is streamlined, able to maneuver effortlessly and swiftly through pounding winds.

Levi cups the end of Eren's nose, cushioned and a bit rubbery. Warm mist sprays at Levi with each one Eren's exhalations, hissing like cooling steam. The top of Eren's snout is bony, hard like a beak swathed in scales. Levi rubs the span of it, stroking him between his eyes—they shut and Eren grumbles some more.

Then he nuzzles Levi's chest the way Levi's horse will do when it wants attention. The tip of his snout is a little narrower than Levi's chest, broadening to his jaw, which is much wider. Eren is stronger than he knows—Levi rocks on his heels, almost toppling over. Holding his head in his hands, Levi scratches Eren under his chin, and Eren's velvet, dragon tongue laps his knuckles warmly, affectionately. Levi has a soft spot for animals; he is fond of his horse, and Eren's current behavior reminds Levi of his horse. He accepts the affection without a thought.

Levi lathers Eren's neck in circles, moving to his right shoulder, to his side. Automatically Eren rolls over, splaying his belly for Levi to rub. Eren's scales are paler, smoother, more delicate and sensitive on his underside. Levi can feel rumbles vibrating in the cavity of Eren's ribcage, as he scrubs him with more force and friction—

Lightning streaks before Levi's eyes, then he is stumbling, suddenly grabbing at air. The air doesn't catch him. He sprawls, legs apart, on top of human Eren. The water splashes around Eren's head, his hair flowing in the ripples, as he gapes, eyes popped, face red all the way to his ears.

"S-Sorry!" he splutters. "It was an accident! I didn't mean—!"

Levi doesn't move. It takes a moment for him to register the situation. Not only is Eren a dragon, but he is also a boy, and Levi let that fact slip away from him. What Levi intended from the start was to treat Eren like a person, never an animal, but he had forgotten. Eren had looked like a dragon. He had felt like a dragon. But Levi had been feeling up a human being—and still is. His hands are under Eren's shirt, flat on his stomach, which feels nothing like dragon scales.

Levi rearranges Eren's shirt, covering his stomach once more, then crawls off. "Have better control." The order lacks force. He starts to the bank—and Eren catches his left hand. Levi looks back at him.

"Hold on…" Eren's eyes are smoldering. They deliberately travel the length of Levi's arm to his wrist; then he flips Levi's hand over. He tenderly touches the rider's mark, doting on it like it is precious to him. "I don't want to look away. I can't… It's as if I'm not strong enough." Eren brings Levi's hand to his face, softly caressing Levi's knuckles. "It's just…" his face draws in, spellbound, "that I…" Eren's warm breath ghosts Levi's palm.

Then Eren puts Levi's hand to his face, feeling the mark against his cheek, memorizing it by touch. Levi's palm molds to the curve of Eren's cheekbone, and Levi allows Eren to settle his face in his hand. Eren's eyes close as he savors the contact like it is a heavenly feeling; then Levi pinches Eren's cheek, hard, leaving a bright red welt. "_GYA—!?_" The feeling of Levi's hand isn't at all heavenly. Eren swipes it away, frowning, rubbing his smarting wound. "That hurt." His lower lip pushes out a little. "Why would you do that?"

But Levi isn't given a chance to respond. Suddenly Eren whips his head to the side, his sharp teeth showing in a snarl, with flashing eyes. His pupils are withdrawn slivers. "Something's coming." Levi can practically see Eren's hair standing on end. "Something bad. _Really_ bad." Eren jumps to his feet, retreating backwards as if there is a demon in the bushes out for him. "We need to leave. _Now._" His voice is a rasp.

Eren shifts—the saddle has returned to his back—and before Levi has settled in the seat, with three anxious strokes of his wings, Eren rockets to the sky. Once they clear the canopy, Levi then sees what Eren had sensed. Approaching is a menacing storm of roiling clouds of shadow, whirling in the sky like a black, bottomless pit, a manifested nightmare. Eren touches ground on the edge of a cliff, beholding the threat. The swirling air is cold inside cold, and the dread that he feels is that of falling, of helplessness, of despair. Fear claws up Eren's spine. He shudders.

_What is that?_ he asks._ It doesn't look like an ordinary storm._

Levi knows very well what they are looking at. "It's a gateway to the Shadow Realm," he mutters. "Looks like we'll be having some uninvited company." He pats Eren's neck. "How about it, Eren? Your first hot date with shadows, think you're ready?"

Eren plants his forefeet in the rocky ground, puffing his chest, letting loose a resounding roar, louder than thunder, that trembles the very heart of darkness.


	9. Protect Yourself, So I Won't Have To

ink blood360: you're awesome.

Thank you for reading!

* * *

People darting all over the place, abound panic and alarm, maybe a few tears, a few prayers, last words, the whole works—that is what Eren expected. This reality of collection and calm is not what Eren had pictured. The hunters get straight to business as if they are dealing with an every-day situation. With years of experience strung under their belts, they have learned how to keep a level head when facing dire circumstances that they know little about. The hunters, along with Mikasa and Armin, are gathered in the palace hall, seated at a long table. Hanji is standing at the head, Erwin seated at her right hand, and the Otherbook is between them.

"We have limited experience dealing with shadow head-on," Erwin begins. "We are unfamiliar in that case. Fortunately, we have someone who does have experience." Erwin sets his gaze on Levi. "Feel free to add your thoughts at any time, Levi. Anything you have to offer is valuable to us."

Mikasa's eyes alternate from Levi to Erwin suspiciously. "What do you mean he has experience?"

"The Shadow Realm is quite familiar to him."

Mikasa vacantly stares at Levi. "You've been there?"

Hanji interrupts. "We'll have to save that conversation for another day." She leafs through the Otherbook and lands on a marked page. "While Levi is a valuable asset, he isn't our only advantage." She grabs the corners of the table, leaned in. "Eren,"—Eren straightens his back—"your fire-breath will be most important to us. Fire can drive back shadows. With your dragon power, you can push the storm away from here. You're our frontrunner man."

Eren clears his throat and scratches his head and bounces his knee. "You need me to breathe fire?"

Hanji nods. "It's essential that you do."

"Essential? But that's not—I'm not…" Eren drifts off. "Is there another way?"

"Lost your nerve, have you?" Levi leans back in his seat, arms crossed on his chest. "Whatever it is that's got you in a cold sweat, snap out of it. You don't have time to hesitate."

Eren's bouncing knee picks up in speed, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Mikasa intervenes, pointblank. "His fire-breathing is underdeveloped."

The news is a blow. The room is struck silent and all eyes drill Eren, immobilizing him. He can't even bounce his knee in a nervous habit under their gazes. He wishes that he could draw into the backdrop and fade.

Shouldn't they have noticed by now that Eren doesn't breathe fire when he fights? He figured they knew. Not once has Eren used his fire-breath during a battle. Why would they assume that he was any good at it, let alone that he even _could?_ Levi never asked Eren to breathe fire in training, so it's unfair to expect Eren to do it now.

"What kind of dragon can't breathe fire?" demands Levi. His expression is dark and stony.

"It's not that I'm _unable_ to," Eren counters defensively. He feels like there is a boulder rolling in his stomach. "It's just that I won't last long…" The look Levi shoots him is murderous. Eren winces. "You know how some people aren't good at swimming? Well, some dragons aren't good at fire-breathing."

Hanji is less hostile than Levi but noticeably frustrated. "Can you estimate how much time you think you'll be able to buy us?"

"Fifteen minutes?"

"_Fifteen!_" scoffs Oluo. "Useless brat."

"Maybe thirty." Eren exudes self-doubt.

"He'll buy you an hour." Levi's tone is steel, his eyes steelier. "I'll make sure of it."

Eren clamps his mouth shut. He doesn't know if an hour is even possible—that is four times his usual limitations! One way or another, he will have to make it happen, because Eren thinks he might not have a future if he doesn't. Levi might actually _slay_ him. Eren can see it now:_ Legendary Dragon Hunter Made Dragon Rider Kills Own Dragon_, headlined in the news. Where has Eren's spine gone? because he feels absolutely spineless.

Hanji grins. "Perfect! We're counting on you, Eren."

* * *

Erwin has scouted a group of people to help warn villagers and barricade homes for lockdown. The people elected are circled in the castle's small chapel, which has been cleared for this meeting. Shadows crawl across the carpeted floor, in and out of torchlight, flitting alight then eerily fading. A draft of cold air slithers over Eren's skin on the nape of his neck. It makes his hair stand and he involuntarily steps closer to Mikasa. She glances at him.

"I don't like this place," he mutters. "It gives me the creeps."

Scanning the room, Eren sees familiar faces: Connie, the blacksmiths (Reiner and Bertholdt), Princess Christa and her caregiver, Jean and his freckle-faced friend, and (of course) Armin and Mikasa. There are two more faces that Eren doesn't recognize: two girls, one with a brunette ponytail and a blonde, bored-looking girl. Eren might have seen the blonde at the tournament, but he isn't sure. These are the people Erwin scouted? Kids? A bunch of damn kids? Eren palms his forehead in amazement. What the hell is the commander thinking?

"Each of you has a role to play," Erwin tells them. "I have sketched a layout of guidelines and will supply to you your own course of action. It's important that you stick to the plans." He calls their names one by one. Eren learns that the ponytail girl is Sasha and the blonde is Annie. "Read your instructions carefully. Many lives are at stake. We need for this to go over smoothly. Consult with each other. When we're ready to start out, I'll give a signal."

He leaves them in the chapel—a group of teenagers responsible for the lives of the entire kingdom who know next to nothing about one another. They avoid looking at each other, engaged with excessive concentration on their instructions.

"This is bullshit," grumbles Jean. "Why do _we_ have to do all the work while everyone else is safely holed up inside?"

Eren's chest heats up at that. "Leave, then." He swings an arm at the exit. "There's the door, and it's _wide_ open."

"Are you saying you would rather risk your life than be inside by a warm fire?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"Nice try," Jean scoffs. "Nobody actually thinks that way. You're just putting on a show to impress"—he nods his chin at Mikasa—"_her_, aren't you?"

"What are you even saying?"

Twisting in his seat, Jean squares up to Eren. "What I'm saying is normal people look out for their own skin. They do whatever's easiest and profits them the most. It's human nature. Just look at the king. You think he'd be willing to go out and fight when he's protected by palace walls?"

Eren is quiet for a beat, just looking at Jean. Then he mutters, "Maybe you're right. Maybe normal people look out for themselves." Eren recalls what Levi had told him, that awkward speech he had given, and suddenly it starts making sense. "I've been told I'm not normal, and I don't know if it's because I'm a dragon shifter or because I'm an Otherworlder or because I choose to fight." He clenches his hands. "I'm not alone, though. I have my rider and I have my friends." Then Eren projects his voice a bit louder, speaking to every person in the room. "Choose for yourself what you want. As for me, I'm going to fight."

A quiet, monotonous voice speaks up, and everyone turns to Annie in surprise. She stands off from the crowd, her arms folded, looking at nothing in particular as if it takes too much effort to raise her eyes. "You say righteous things, and going against the grain takes extraordinary courage. I respect that even if it's probably nothing but foolishness." Her artic blue eyes are glazed with indolence. "People like you are rare. Most of us drift whichever way the tides take us. And I'm one of those people."

The glaze in her eyes ebbs as she focuses on Eren. She approaches him, and Eren has to tuck his chin to meet her lethargic gaze because she is so small. "If you want to keep up your endurance, breathe from here." She presses her hand to the bottom of his ribcage, just above his stomach, which causes a breath to slip from his lungs. "Your diaphragm." Then her hand slides up. "When you breathe from your chest, you're not getting a full air supply. If you breathe right, your shoulders should move minimally and your stomach will rise." Her arm drops limp at her side. "Do what I'm telling you and you'll last much longer."

Eren places his hands over the place where she had touched his waist. "My diaphragm, huh? I'm not sure your endurance tips can help me be a better dragon." He then realizes how unappreciative he sounded. "But thanks. I'll definitely try that."

Annie turns her shoulder. "…Good luck."

"I'm with Blondie," says Jean. "I'm a drifter. The smart thing to do is shut our doors and hope the storm passes before our food supply runs out."

In a flash, Eren does an about face with Jean and fists his collar. Eren is nose to nose with him, and it might look like they were about to kiss if not for their intense glares. "If you don't want to fight, then fine. Stay inside and _don't_ come out."

Jean is undaunted. He matches Eren's stare with equal heat, holding himself taller than Eren but somehow feeling smaller. "I don't need this from you, Mr. Death Drive."

"Go, then. Protect yourself," Eren rasps, "so I won't have to." He releases Jean with a shove and glances at the others. "That goes for all of you. I don't care what you do. Just stay out of the way." With that he stalks out the door, feeling like waves of heat are radiating from his shoulders.

Once he is in the hall, he simmers against the wall, back tight to the stone, blowing steam. Two sets of footsteps head his way. They round the doorway, and Eren turns his face in the opposite direction, not wanting them to see his eyes that are stinging with frustration and anger. Eren wishes he hadn't let that upper-class asshole get under his skin. But he did.

"You okay?" Armin asks him.

Eren doesn't look at Armin. He stares down the hall. "You know…the other night, when I thought the guards were going to whip you, I had thought humanity deserved to be cursed with shadow for treating us like trash." He sighs. "Who am I kidding? I'm no better than that horse-face."

"Eren…"

"But I realized it doesn't matter. No one will be left if shadow takes over. At least, right now, they're all still alive to hate me, and I would rather that than watch them be swallowed by darkness."

Armin leans against the wall close enough to Eren that their shoulders touch. "If you can fend off the storm for an hour, we'll do the rest here," he says. "You won't have to worry about the villagers. The others…I think you motivated them to fight. When you left, something changed."

"They changed their minds?"

Amin smiles. "Yeah. They're with you."

Eren relaxes a little. He could use all the help he can get. If they work together, the kingdom has a chance. Granted, it is a slim one, but it is better than nothing. Eren claps Armin's shoulder. "I'm counting on you, Armin."

"What can I even do?" he bitterly says.

"What do you mean? You have good judgment."

Mikasa, who has been silently standing at Armin's other side, agrees. "We need you to tell us what to do."

For a moment, Armin is quiet, then—"Okay. You can rely on me." He steps out from beneath Eren's hand and gives him a long look. "Come back in one piece."

"I won't go down that easily."

"You might be the best weapon against shadow," Armin replies, "but you're also the most vulnerable. Don't push your limits too far."

"I have to follow my rider's orders."

Armin is slow to respond. "If he told you to die"—his eyes search Eren—"would you?"

"Yeah." Armin and Mikasa both have grim looks. "But he wouldn't do that." Although Levi intimidates Eren, although he can seem more like a phantom than a person at times, Eren is positive Levi wouldn't hurt him.

Without saying anything more, Armin disappears back inside the chapel, leaving Eren alone with Mikasa. She steps closer to him so that they are nearly chest-to-chest. "Can I try something?" Eren doesn't say yes or no, but she tries something anyway. Her finger runs up his throat, leaving a cool, soothing trail like the feeling of aloe on heated skin. Eren shivers. "I don't know what good it'll do, but hopefully it will increase your recovery rate. It should make fire-breathing easier."

"Thanks."

Eren hears approaching footsteps and sees Levi. He is geared up in his cloak, one sword at his hip, and his crossbow strapped to him. Each torch that he passes quivers like a breath has gusted over it. Mikasa steps back from Eren, and Levi drops her a glance before addressing Eren. "We can't defeat shadow. We can only redirect it, understand? Endurance is key."

"Understood."

"You know a lot about shadow." Mikasa sounds like she is accusing Levi of something.

Levi blinks. "…Yeah, you heard what Erwin said. There's no need to repeat it."

"You're from the Shadow Realm," she says.

"What the hell, Mikasa?" Eren snaps.

"I didn't mean it as an insult. I'm just saying that he shouldn't forget his true nature."

Levi's brows draw together. "What are you getting at?"

"…?" Mikasa stares at Levi for a while, then her eyes widen, and she turns her face, making an inexplicable grimace. She hides behind her muffler. "Nothing."

Eren pushes past her. "Let's go." Levi follows but Mikasa reaches out and grabs his shoulder. He turns as she recoils.

"What is it?"

"Never mind."

He frowns, then continues on without further question. What neither Levi nor Eren see is Mikasa extending her seared hand out in front of her, watching leftover curls of black smoke rise from her palm.

* * *

**Erwin**

It has begun, the countdown to utter darkness. The others are in position, awaiting Erwin's orders. Erwin explains to the squadron of their assigned task, which is completing the final lookover before the storm hits. They will have to work quickly and keenly, or they will be caught in darkness and be lost.

By this point, Eren and Levi should be near the frontline. It is Erwin's greatest hope that those two will be able to put off the countdown for another hour. Erwin needs that hour. He believes in Eren but if he is to fail, then Erwin will have to—

The king's guard storms into the foyer and the council heads are with them. "Where's the Otherstone?" they demand. "We know you have it!"

Hanji's hand flinches for her sword, sensing the impending fallout, and the squadron uneasily shuffle. Then, reaching into his pocket, Erwin presents a dark violet stone to them, the one that Jean stole. "You mean this?"

The councilmen resentfully thrust their fingers at him. "Arrest him!" The guards leap—and the squadron takes immediate action, protectively springing in front of Erwin, swords at the ready. No one moves. No one breathes. Wired eyes size up each other.

Erwin effortlessly slices through the tension, holding the stone up to the torchlight. The color of the stone is so dark that the flames are blotted on its surface. "Contrary to your understanding, this isn't the Otherstone. In fact, I believe it is its counterpart. The Shadowstone."

"There's no such thing as a Shadowstone."

An unfamiliar voice intervenes, sounding faint and reedy like a two-thousand-year-old monk. "It happens that the hunter is correct." They all turn to an elderly man dressed in a black robe, with golden minister collars around his neck, and deeply sunken eyes.

"Pastor Nick?" says a councilman. "What are you saying?"

"The Shadowstone is the power sustaining the gateway to the Shadow Realm. Without it, the gateway will be shut."

Another noble pipes in. "Then if we destroy it, the storm will disappear."

Pastor Nick walks into the room, his hands folded behind his back, the bottom of his robe touching the ground. "The human realm is the crossroads between the Otherworld and the netherworld. We need both light and shadow or our realm could be thrown out of balance. Whether or not destroying the stone will be our salvation or our damnation is unclear."

"We'll take the risk."

Erwin pockets the stone. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. The risk is larger than this kingdom. Your best chance is the people that are fighting with all of their strength." He nods his head in a small bow. "Now if you'll excuse us. We have a mission at hand that we must carry out. I advise you to find shelter and stay near the light. You have less than hour to find safety." When Erwin, Hanji, and the squadron pass the nobles, they do not stop them.

Out the doors of the palace, the squadron hurries to their horses. Erwin waits until they are out of earshot before consulting Hanji. "You realize why we must keep the stone in our possession. If they decide they want to destroy it, the balance may or may not be affected. But that isn't my primary concern."

Hanji pushes her glasses to the top of her head. "I know what you're thinking. You're afraid if the gateway is destroyed, we'll lose anyone with ties to the Shadow Realm."

"Not just anyone," says Erwin. "Perhaps valuing an individual life above a hundred others makes me a bad person, but I can't bring myself to throw out that particular life…no matter the cost." Erwin holds the stone to her. "That is why I am entrusting you with it. If you learn what's right and choose to destroy the stone, I will accept your decision. I will make no attempt to stop you."

Hanji stares at the stone, considering what he is offering her. Then she takes it from his hand. "No single life is worth a hundred." She quickly slips it into her pocket. "However, I also can't bring myself to let him be sacrificed if it comes to that. We're not fit to make the call." Her mouth is a hard line. "Even so, I can't trust anyone else with the choice. Any person in their right mind would sacrifice one life to spare a hundred. That's why I won't let anyone near this stone." She gives Erwin a cynical smile. "You could say I'm a worse person than even you, Erwin."

**Ymir**

Ymir observes as people scramble into their homes, locking their doors, hoping that they will live through this darkness to see another day of light. She feels a tug on her skirt and looks down. A young girl stares up at her.

"Surely you don't value that little life of yours so lightly." Ymir throws a forefinger at no house in particular. "You should be indoors."

"Are you a queen?"

Ymir makes an oblique grin. "If I was, you think I'd be here helping you?"

"A kind queen would."

"I'm not kind."

"But you're helping us, aren't you?" Ymir doesn't blink, and the little girl scampers to her house.

Christa and Ymir have been assigned the job of passing out blankets from the palace's supply. It is not a necessary procedure in Ymir's opinion, but she thinks the commander intended for Christa to act as a beacon of hope more than anything else, in order to raise morale before darkness invades. A light heart is the greatest defense against shadow. Ymir's fingers instinctively curl around the Otherstone in her pocket. She can feel its power throb in the palm of her hand. Then she starts again helping Christa circulate blankets.

**Reiner**

Reiner slings a long hammer on his shoulder, wiping at his brow. He turns to Bertholdt. He is finishing securing boards over the windows across the street, pounding nails with strong strokes.

The woman who lives in the home Reiner has fortified thanks him. "You've been a great help."

"My pleasure. The Springer family is bringing a supply of food. Hopefully it'll last you through the spell." The woman departs indoors with her two sons who gawk Reiner for his heroic bulk. He offers his best grin and their eyes light up before they lock the door. Reiner cups his hands around his mouth. "Hey, Bertholdt," he calls. "Where's Annie?"

Betholdt points down the road to a small figure fastening a deadbolt to the front door of a small shack. She stayed after all… Reiner is pleasantly surprised. Rolling the kink out of his neck, he carries on to the next home, looking to the sky. The storm is getting closer. With a newfound sense of urgency, he gets back to work.

**Marco**

Connie and Sasha toss out bundles of food to the people that they pass as Armin coaches the wagon. Jean is ahead, putting his big mouth and gusto to good use. "Free food!" he announces, which easily draws crowds of twenty and more. They line up on the street, catching the bundles that Connie and Sasha throw. More than once, Connie has swatted Sasha's hand for pinching snacks for herself. "It's for the kingdom!" he shouts.

"I'm not stealing!" she shouts back.

Marco follows, guaranteeing that no family is missed. Thus far, he hasn't had to stop the wagon and backtrack. No time has been wasted. Clopping hooves sound from behind him and he turns. Upcoming is Mikasa, riding full steam ahead on her horse, dark hair flowing behind her, red muffler waving, and small orbs of white light zipping into homes in bright trailing blurs.

**Mikasa**

Will-o-the-wisps fly left and right, dispersing to the houses that Mikasa rides past. _Defend against shadows and_ _keep them warm_, she tells the will-o'-the-wisps._ Stay close to their hearts, especially the little ones. _The winds shriek in her ears as she races on._ Don't let them be afraid. Because the dark isn't really that scary…not when you have the people you love by your side. _She whips down the reigns, charging ahead and passing Marco, then Armin, and then lastly Jean.

She touches her muffler, feeling for Eren—it isn't as strong as a dragon rider link, but she is able to sense Eren's state through the connection. He seems to be holding up okay. He has lasted thirty minutes. If he can push for another thirty, they should have the entire kingdom secure by then. _Work hard, Eren._

**Eren**

Trees curve to the violent winds, the pliability of their trunks tested as if the forest is a flimsy reed field. The storm is a mass of blackness, similar to clouds only denser, solider. It seems alive, a foundation of malevolence and fear, with the intent of spreading like a sickness.

Eren swings around the mass, banking right and blowing flame until his lungs are empty. He refills and the cycle restarts. He blows flame. Runs empty. Refills. Blows flame. Runs empty. Refills.

The storm shrinks away from the fire but the moment Eren pauses to refill, it regains its lost ground. Eren makes minor progress and his stamina is exhausting. Mikasa's charm is wearing off. The natural coat that the glands in his throat secretes isn't replenishing as quickly as it had at the start.

He feels Levi stroke his neck, and even though his touch is gentle, his thoughts are demanding. _'Keep going. You have no choice.'_

_I know, I know!_

What did Annie say? Breathe from his diaphragm. Concentrating, he inhales from below his chest. It feels as if his belly fills with air rather than his lungs. He fills until he is bloated, and then he contracts. A stream of orange fire jets out, and the darkness retreats the other way. The stream of fire is continuous as Eren pushes and pushes and pushes. The shadows fall back. Eren's throat feels raw and parched as if he has been screaming for hours on end. He needs a drink.

_'Good work, Eren.'_

Levi's encouragement fuels Eren to work harder. His few mere thoughts ease Eren's exhaustion and discomfort better than Mikasa's charm. He forgets about needing a drink and keeps plowing onward.

**Levi**

There is something uncanny about this storm, like it is waiting to unleash a concealed, greater power. The way it moves is familiar as if an old memory has come to haunt Levi. He can sense a menacing undercurrent lurking deeper in the shadow, and a chill creeps up his spine like eyes watching him, waiting for him, gauging him. He holds the saddle's handles tighter, knuckles blanched.

Reeling through all the possible reasons for his edginess, Levi blankly stares at Eren's neck so intensely that his vision goes out of focus. The pit in his stomach digs deeper as the feeling of eyes on him grows more intense, a palpable feeling like hands groping his back. He can almost hear a whisper in his ear. Then, in a single quick motion, Levi twists around, crossbow positioned in his arms, arrow nocked. He shoots into the mass of blackness, his intuition being his only guide.

_What was that? _asks Eren.

_'Someone's here—'_

A blur bullets past Levi's face—an arrow dipped in shadow. Then another one flies at them. Levi was right. There is someone else here, in the storm, shooting deadly black arrows. Levi nocks his own bow again and pulls the trigger. The arrow disappears into a cloud of black. Then an arrow is reciprocated. Levi blocks it with his sword before it can hit Eren. He deflects a second one too.

Like a spear hurled from on high, Eren clasps his wings together and dives straight down. Eren's tail swings like a rudder as he snaps his wings open at just the right moment, pulling out of the dive. They are beneath the storm now, skimming treetops. There is a reprieve of shadow arrows, and the second Levi believes that Eren has shaken the pursuer, another arrow comes from an unexpected direction, closer than before. Levi isn't quick enough. It impales Eren's neck, and he howls. The lodged arrow spits embers, burning his scales away, and they violently wreck into treetops, crashing through branches.

This is the third time Levi has been on Eren's back on a course to the ground. He is prepared this time, having learned the best way to fall. He tumbles over his shoulder, landing in a crouch. His boots slide on grass and crackly leaves, and he presses his fingers in the ground to steady himself.

Eren bowls over a couple times before stopping. Then a terrible roar tears through the forest, loud and trilling. It rises in pitch to a very human scream that makes Levi feel like his blood is ice. Eren shifts, screaming like it is all that he knows. Then he viciously tears his nails into his own neck, desperately scraping out flesh and blood, making deep, spurting gashes.

Wailing at the top of his lungs, he keeps tearing and clawing like he is trying to rip himself to ribbons. His nails are crimson-stained and dripping. The gashes open wider as he digs his nails with uncontrollable fury down his flesh. Then Levi wrestles him immobile, pinning his wrists to the pine-bed ground. Eren ferociously struggles, jerking and flailing, but Levi is stronger.

"Lemme go!" Eren wildly thrashes. "You're _killing_ me!"

Levi maintains his firm hold and composure. "You're killing yourself."

Levi watches as Eren's irises glower unnerving emerald as if he could burn Levi with blinding green light. Then his pupils slit and his mouth opens wide and rigid. "_LET. ME. GO!_" Each word is a thunderclap, shaking the forest—the strength of Eren's dragon voice.

Eren vehemently fights Levi's grasp, twisting, tossing. Inhuman snarls lash from his mouth, his jaws snapping dangerously close to Levi's face, knifelike teeth popping together, and thick foam stringing from his top incisors to his bottom ones. Pain has driven Eren to savage madness. Levi tightens his grip; he feels Eren's wrists fracture—but Eren feels nothing.

Using enough brute force to knock the breath out of Levi, Eren throws his shoulders into his chest, growling and foaming some more, fangs exposed and glinting like metal. Levi is too strong. He crushes Eren, and Eren's bones snap with a loud, grotesque noise. "_AH!_" The sound of his forearms cracking apart brings Eren back to his senses. His slit pupils open and he abruptly stops struggling. His chest pumps; his entire body lurches. Then his lethal glare shatters into torment at its most unforgiving. Eren doesn't fight. He accepts his agony, resigned to it, and Levi relaxes his hold. Eren's arms are severely bent, but they heal in seconds.

Eyes screwed shut, Eren rolls his head to the side, fresh blood gushing out the self-inflicted claw marks, which haven't even begun to heal. Beneath the scratches is the arrow incision, and from it dark spidery veins branch outward as if his blood has turned to shadow ichor—but worse is his red, blistering flesh. Burns, Levi realizes. Eren is burning inside out.

Eren clenches up, throwing his head back, unleashing a tortured wail as the shadow ichor moves up his veins, rippling his skin, spreading higher and lower, across, everywhere. Deep divots bubble his flesh and burst with cloudy pus. His skin burns away, peeling and blackening, until the whole expanse of his neck is charred. His wail shudders to an agonized hiss, then wanes to a pitiful whimper.

_"Please, please, please…_" he begs. "Let go—Just let go." Levi releases Eren to shift his crossbow to his side. Then he grabs Eren again, roughly pulling him onto his back. Eren groans as Levi hooks his arms under his knees.

"Hold on to me." It isn't an order that Eren can refuse. Eren's arms automatically wind around Levi's neck, tight, denting Levi's windpipe. Levi doesn't complain and takes off into the forest.

Being burnt alive isn't supposed to be an issue for Eren. People of flesh are the ones Levi has to worry about. Eren was supposed to be the one person exempt from that kind of pain. Dragons don't burn. They can't. So why is Eren burning? _How_ is he burning? And can Levi save him? He thinks of only one way to put out flames. Water. Levi races against the clock towards the Otherworld spring.

Eren's mouth is at Levi's ear, gasping groans and pleas that take Levi's mind to the past. People, full villages, burning, screaming—and Levi wasn't able to do anything except watch them burn. The worst kind of pain that people can endure is that of fire mercilessly eating up their flesh, helpless, a hell of pain and agony, till they are a memory of powder and cracked bone.

"I _can't!_" Eren chokes. "Stop. Put me down." _You're making it worse! Let me go! _

Eren's disjointed thoughts repeat in a loop that sickeningly stirs Levi's stomach. He contracts his arms under Eren's knees, and Eren cries out like Levi is twisting him into a knot. Eren bites down on his own arm, gnawing to keep from screaming. His teeth sink in his flesh, perhaps to the bone. Levi isn't sure.

_I hate him! I really hate him! Why is he letting me suffer? _

A sudden pang shoots up Levi's neck. He grits his teeth and makes a low grunting noise. Eren is so senseless that his teeth have moved to the base of Levi's neck and he is biting him instead of himself. Eren's teeth are sharp, penetrating deeply. This is a dangerous situation. Eren could actually _kill_ Levi in his delirium. Levi feels warm blood trickle down his shoulder. He ignores it and pushes on.

_It hurts… _Eren makes a choking noise, clutching Levi's throat tighter._ Make it stop. I can't take it…_

Eren isn't biting Levi anymore. He burrows in Levi's neck, his face wet with sweat or tears or both, rubbing back and forth as if to wheedle Levi to make it stop. But Levi is already doing all that he can. His legs pump quicker than a blur, muscles burning, his blood and breath roaring. He whizzes past trees, flies over rock and grasses and foliage, in bearings to the spring like is it the North Star. All roads lead North.

_Just kill me. I can't…_

_Please, just…_

_Just… _

_… ..._

_..._

Eren goes slack. His arms dangle loosely around Levi's neck. "Eren?" Levi jostles him. "Hey, Eren." No response. Levi doesn't think he can run any faster but tries. His legs cramp, and Eren is heavy on his back, and his crossbow is digging into his ribs. Levi thinks it might have punctured skin. At last he sees an encouraging glow in the gloom. He breaks into the clearing, where the Otherworld spring is bright in the gray monochromatic surroundings. He sets Eren down.

The burns have spread to his jaw and his ear, and the shadow in his veins stretches over his cheek in a black web. His shirt sticks to his body with blood. Levi scrunches Eren's collar in both hands and urgently tears it down the middle. Levi stares. Eren's chest, stomach, and right side are scorched. The layers of his skin are visible where the fire has peeled away the top layer, through the second, exposing the third. And those black veins weave farther, consuming him piece by piece.

After dumping his weapons, Levi scoops Eren in his arms and trudges into the spring. With his boots on and his shoulders set like stone with dread, his natural capacity is hindered. He almost trips. When the water reaches Levi's stomach, he submerges Eren, letting his face stay above surface. Billows of crimson and black cloud the water, poisoning its pure, crystal blue color. Levi waits. It is disturbingly still. Levi wonders if time has hesitated. Then he wonders if it will start up again. Will Eren ever open his eyes? Levi tries to remember their strange, unique color. He can't.

Another pulse sends shadow reaching across Eren's face like violating fingers. His skin bubbles and burns, then flakes to ashes. Half his face is burnt beyond recognition.

Levi scans the water and sees that the entire spring has turned black. This…isn't working. Levi had invested everything in the Otherworld spring. It was the trump card he had up his sleeve, the best idea he dredged up, and the spring is rejecting Eren. Now Eren is dying in Levi's arms from a poor judgment call, from Levi's shot-in-the-dark guess. Levi should have raced the opposite way, to the palace, to Mikasa or Hanji, to real, substantial help, instead of bringing him here, in the hopes that some Otherworld spring water would magically heal him. There is no such thing as miracles. By this point, Levi should be aware of that.

How many people has he seen burn, unable to stop it, unable to save them, watching their suffering, listening to their screams of agony? He doesn't want to watch Eren die in the same horrible way.

He carries Eren to the bank, carefully laying him on his back. He unsheathes his sword and twists the dragon eye from the hilt. Then he takes his crossbow, nocking an arrow. Reeling back his arm, he hurls the eye as high as he can, over the canopy of trees, aims his crossbow, and shoots. The arrow collides with the eye—it bursts in a spectacular green flare amongst the dense overcast. Someone has to see that signal and come help them. They have to. Levi can't make it back to the kingdom in time. He can't leave. So all he can do is depend on someone else.

Levi drops his weapons and turns back to Eren. He is too still. Levi sits down beside Eren, pulling him into his lap. He sits, watching Eren burn, watching shadow consume him. Ashes fall from Eren's skin. Blood pours from his open burns. Shouldering out of his cloak, Levi lays it over Eren's seared, bleeding chest with a flourish. Then he gently brushes Eren's hair out of his face. The one half that is intact looks as if he could be sleeping. It is the side of his face that Levi had pinched, and he touches where that ridiculous, red welt had been. He remembers Eren's silly-looking pout, his jutted-out bottom lip like an affronted child that didn't understand a joke. It had been charming in a naïve kind of way.

Levi waits. Hopelessly. For someone, for something, and it is the worst feeling, because Levi is useless in that case. Just waiting… Waiting… Uselessly holding Eren tighter… thinking that maybe he was a little harsh and pushed Eren too hard, thinking that he shouldn't have pinched Eren's face, thinking if Eren wants to touch his hand again, then that would be okay. Eren can stare at the mark and touch it for as long as he wants. Levi won't mind. Levi won't pinch him again, not even as a cheap joke. He cradles Eren to his chest. Don't burn. Someone has to come… _Anyone…_

A white flicker catches Levi's eye. He turns his head and sees orbs of beatific, ghostly lights floating amongst the trees, approaching them. Levi has seen those lights once. He doesn't know what they are but knows they are good. They congregate closer yet remain at a distance.

"That won't work." Mikasa walks into the clearing. "They can't heal those who've been tainted by shadow."

"So you called them pointlessly?"

She crouches beside Eren, going glassy-eyed at the mangled sight of him. She touches his intact face. "I didn't call them," she mutters. "You did."

* * *

Entry: The Dragon Shifter (CON'T)

A dragon's natural fear is darkness because, while dragons are impervious to fire, they are susceptible to shadow, which makes a **shade **(see entry) significantly dangerous to a dragon shifter. Any physical contact with a powerful shade, even a simple, momentary touch, can cause severe burns to a dragon. A shade is a dragon's greatest enemy, and it is in the dragon shifter's best interest to avoid such a being at every cost.

Recorded by J.R.G


	10. It Was A Mistake

The temperature plummets. It is suddenly winter-cold, and the trees arc like bows to the fierce squalls. Armin stops the wagon. It is empty, except for Connie and Sasha who sit inside, faces taut and pale, looking like their own shadows have it in for them. Perhaps they do. Not even a person's own shadow can be trusted anymore. Then a shape of movement blows past Armin and Jean.

"Mikasa!" Armin yells, as she goes careering into the dark forest on horseback. The branches seem to wall her in so that nobody can chase after her.

"Should I follow her?" Jean grips his reins at the ready.

"…No." Armin gauges the sky. It is leaden and abysmal, like the sun has been lost. Violent winds stir the treetops; they eerily moan, and goosebumps rise on Armin's forearms. "Something's happened to Eren. She wouldn't have left us in any other case. I don't think Eren can fight off the storm any longer, which means it's headed our way. We need to find shelter."

"What about the others?" Marco canters up to meet them. "Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie are still boarding up houses. And the princess is probably close behind."

Armin maps the village inside his head. Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie should be near them by this point, with Ymir and Christa following. Then there is the hunter squadron. They are supposed to pick up on the final sweep. But by the looks of it, there will be no time for that. Armin can hear the heart of the storm approaching, howling in the distance.

Suddenly, the sky lights up emerald in a sparkling cloud of what looks like dust or powder, but Armin knows that it is a release of petrified dragon essence. The light flourishes then dwindles above the forest that Mikasa disappeared into.

"What was that?" asks Connie.

"I think it was a distress signal." Armin's gut feels like it is flipped. Eren must be in really bad shape. Armin pivots his horse in the direction of the forest. Should he go as well? He doesn't have healing powers like Mikasa. Armin knows that dragons are greatly susceptible to shadow. If his speculations are correct, Eren has probably endured severe injuries, in which case Mikasa would be the only person who would be of any help to Eren. Armin would be more help here, shepherding the others to safety.

"Connie, Sasha, take my horse." Armin slides off and untethers the empty wagon. "Marco, Jean, and I will warn Annie and the others. Connie, can you and Sasha warn the princess?"

Connie climbs on Armin's horse, with Sasha behind him. "Roger." Connie whips down the reins, and they dash up the dirt road the way that they had come. Mist creeps along the path, concealing their profiles.

Offering a hand, Jean pulls Armin onto the back of his horse. "What now, chief?"

Armin points to the fork in the road. Connie and Sasha had taken the right; Armin, Jean, and Marco will be taking the left. "If my judgment is accurate, Reiner and the others will be finishing these homes. I can only guess how quickly they went about their work, but I would think that they're close."

They ride in the direction Armin had suggested. It is disturbingly quiet like the world has been sucked of life. Armin has read accounts of shadow dominating villages. Is this how those villages look? Silent as death. Static as a broken clock. Lifeless. The only sounds are thumping hooves and Armin's own breath. He can hear Jean's breath too and feel Jean's heart pounding under his ribcage. Jean is rigid and apprehensive; sweat beads at his hairline.

Marco points ahead. "There!" Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie are together, watching the sky. Reiner is leaning on his hammer, Bertholdt's face is splotched with dust, and Annie's hair is looser than usual. Altogether they appear shaken. Jean tightens the reins, and his horse reels to a halt, snorting restlessly.

"Eren has been compromised," Armin tells them.

"Now the storm is on our asses," Jean adds, "so we gotta hightail it outta here."

Annie's standard detachment cracks. Her artic eyes melt. "Eren's alright, though?"

Armin flattens his mouth. "I can't say. All I know is that it doesn't look good."

Reiner swings his hammer to his shoulder. "Eren's a fighter. I have no doubt that he'll make it through."

"I'm not saying we should forget about the guy, really," says Jean, "but we're not exactly doing so hot, either." He twists around to Armin. "What's the plan?"

Armin surveys this part of the village. What they need is a place with an available light source, somewhere low…or maybe high. Armin touches his chin in thought. He hunts through the knowledge that he has tucked away in the back of his mind. Darkness usually breeds in underground places. Altitude is best. "I think a watchtower would be a good place to take refuge. The guards keep supplies there. If it happens that the storm persists, then we'll have some food to last us. But there won't be much. It'd be best if we split up."

"Bertholdt, Annie, and I will go to the Westward tower, then," says Reiner. "You guys take the next one over. We'll be close enough to send signals if we run into hang-ups."

Armin nods. "Okay. We'll see you there." He winds his arms around Jean. Then they are off.

They reach the tower in the nick of time. The storm has caught up, bringing with it coldness and ghostly gusts. The tower is empty and there are crevices in the walls. Armin wonders if it will be able to weather the storm. Jean jumps off the horse and helps Armin off next, scooping him under the arms and setting him on his feet as if he is a child or a bride—Armin doesn't ponder which one.

Stroking his horse's neck, Jean asks, "What should we do with the horse?"

Armin can see the fear in the mare's protruded eyes. "Let her loose. She'll find shelter on her own." Jean removes the saddle and the bit, then orders it gone. The horse scampers down the street, vanishing in mist.

"JEAN! ARMIN!" They whirl. Marco is speeding at them, his horse kicking up dust. "GET INSIDE!"

"Oh shit…" The storm rages on Marco's heels, blanketing the street behind him in darkness. The houses disappear one by one as if every existence is blinking out like a line of dying stars. One house vanishes, then the next one, then the one after is gone too. Black smoke chases Marco, coiling and grabbing for him, and Marco is a mere breadth from being swallowed. The tail end of his horse is riding the edge.

Armin fumbles the door's handle; it erupts inward. Armin trips, then Jean's hands are on his back, shoving him up the stairs. Midflight Marco leaps off his horse. It doesn't slow. It races down the street. And Marco stumbles, his feet flying out from beneath him. The extra velocity pushes him into Jean, pushing him into Armin, and Armin trips again, face first.

Then Marco drives them forward, propelling Jean, propelling Armin. "_Go, go, go!_" The shadow is still on Marco's heels. They tear up the stairs.

Armin really shouldn't be leading. He is too slow; his legs aren't long enough. He has a misstep—his shin smashes a step's edge. He cries out.

"_Move_, Armin!" Jean pushes Armin faster, shouldering him headfirst.

A tendril of shadow catches up with Marco, winding his ankle. It yanks him back—and Marco tumbles, head over heels, step after step, into darkness. Jean spins. "Marco!" He desperately grabs for Marco, reaching into the black mass. It is cold—his fingers clutch icy, empty air. Jean's legs tense, prepared to jump.

But Armin snatches his other arm before he can thoughtlessly dive into shadow. "It's too late."

"NO!" Jean twists. "He was just there! He's—"

"I'm sorry." Armin's clutch on Jean's forearm is adamant, as he drags him up the stairs. "We have to keep going."

"But Marco!"

Armin flings Jean to the top of the tower, slamming the door shut behind them. He presses his back to the frame, breathing hard, knees weak. There is a lantern emitting enough light to shield them. They will be safe for now. Armin sighs.

_WACK!_

The back of Armin's skull hits the door, and a pressure on Armin's throat forces him to his toes. Jean has the front of Armin's shirt twisted in his grasp. "You bastard!" Jean smashes Armin to the wood—Armin's shoulder blades feel like they are going to break through his skin. He wriggles his fingers in Jean's hold, trying to loosen his throttling grip. "I could've _saved_ him!"

Armin doesn't fight. Jean has every right to be angry with him. "The probability of that was slim. If you had gone after him, it was almost certain that you would have been lost too."

"_Almost_ certain isn't reason enough." Jean intensifies his grip, and threads in Armin's shirt tear.

Turning his head to the side, Armin lets his hair fall over his face. "You're right. Even if there's the slightest chance that a life can be saved, we should take the risk. I should have let you go. He was a close friend of yours." Armin's throat is tight. It is hard to swallow. "I wasn't thinking of you. I was only thinking of myself. I didn't want you to take the risk. And for that, I'm sorry."

"_You—!_" Jean is wordless, though, Armin can imagine all the explicit curses that rave unintelligibly inside him.

Jean's jaw roots in place, and he drops Armin as if he couldn't let go of him quick enough. Turning his back, he shuffles to the side of the room. He presses his hand to the wall, kneading his temples with his other hand, head dropping like it is too heavy for him to hold on his shoulders. "Dammit…" His voice cracks, and he sinks to a squat. "I should've taken Marco home. We should be indoors by a warm fire. Instead I listened to a suicidal dragon-freak make it sound like throwing out our lives was a good idea—and I was stupid enough to believe him."

"You wanted to do the right thing."

"What the hell is the right thing?" Jean's voice booms off the bricked, rounded walls. Armin flinches. "If you know, I'll gladly hear you out." When silence is the only answer, Jean makes a sound like a wounded growl. His words are toxic. "You Otherworlders should've stayed where you belonged."

Armin won't admit that hurts. "Those of us that are stuck here, in the human realm, don't belong anywhere. We were shut out of the Otherworld. Even if we had wanted to stay…we couldn't have." Armin lifts the pre-lit oil lantern rung on the wall and carries it to Jean. Armin is close enough that Jean is caught in the ring of light but far enough that there is a safe gap between them.

The glow of the flames plays on the back of Jean's head. "Are you trying to guilt-trip me or something?"

Armin stares at the back of Jean's skull as if he could get Jean to turn around if he looked hard enough. "No, I wouldn't do that."

Jean drags his arm over his eyes. "Yeah, you don't seem like that kind of guy." Sighing, he collapses against the wall, sitting with a foot pulled up. His eyes are red.

Armin shores up enough courage to sit beside Jean, centering the lantern between them. He curls into himself. "I'm sorry."

"I know I'm not going to like the answer, but I have to know… What exactly happens to people taken by shadow?"

"They're lost to the Shadow Realm."

Jean's face drains, and Armin wishes that he had held his tongue. "He's not coming back, is he?" It isn't a question.

A lump forms in Armin's throat. "No." Giving Jean as much privacy as he can in this small space, Armin angles to the side, as Jean grieves. He mourns in silence, and Armin closes his eyes, trying to shut out the sound of Jean's staggered breathing. Armin imagines being in Jean's position. He thinks of Eren, of never seeing Eren again, and of watching Eren slip away right from his hands. Armin digs his kneecaps into his eye sockets. He sees patches of purple and black. Then he thinks of nothing, because thinking of nothing is much safer than thinking of anything at all.

* * *

Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie were circled around a lantern when Connie, Sasha, Ymir, and Princess Christa raided their tower. Now they are huddled around the meager light source, squashed together, shoulder-to-shoulder, proportioning the light as thin as it will go. Ymir, who is between Christa and Connie, jams her shoulder past Connie, knocking him into Reiner. Reiner catches him and settles him back in place. Connie glares at Ymir. "Watch it!"

Ymir doesn't apologize. "You do realize this lantern won't last us through the storm."

"We can't stay here." Sasha hugs herself, teeth chattering. "We'll starve!"

"There's food in storage," Reiner tells her. "Starvation won't be the end of us. Don't worry."

"Oh!" Sasha wipes her forehead. "That's good."

"Are you warm enough, Annie?" Bertholdt turns his body to peek past Annie's hair.

She stares expressionlessly at the lantern. "Worry about yourself. If we're forced to leave, you won't be quick enough to outrun shadow."

Bertholdt draws off his coat, draping it over her shoulders. It is so large on her that it surrounds her whole body. "Is that better?"

Annie sighs and stuffs her arms inside. "Thank you."

He smiles. "You're welcome."

"We haven't heard from Armin," Reiner remarks. "We said we'd only signal if we ran into trouble, but I wonder if they're okay."

Ymir leans back on her hands, bumping Connie's shoulder again, and he shoots her a scowl. "Sitting around biting our nails is good for nothing but bloody quicks and cracked cuticles."

Christa glances at her questioningly. "Ymir?"

"Do you know why the storm is here in the first place? Do any of you have a clue?" The faces around Ymir are blank. "A storm doesn't pop up out of nowhere. Obviously, someone summoned it." Ymir shakes her head in I'm-surrounded-by-idiots wonder. "Humans hate Otherworlders, yet, here they are, depending on one to protect them."

"Make some sense," Connie grumbles. "I don't get what you're saying."

Ymir rises to her feet. "Give me that lantern." Connie twists around and has to use both hands to wrench the unlit lantern fixed in its perch. He delivers it to Ymir. Then she puckers her lips as if she is going to kiss the glass. A thin stream of orange flame trickles out, bringing life to the dead wick. There are surprised murmurs, and Ymir's pupils pull to slits. "Stay here if you want to live." She begins to the door, and Christa does too.

Reiner gapes. "You're a dragon shifter."

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious."

"Ymir." His tone is hard. "What are you planning?"

"It just so happens that I have no plan. I'm feeling a bit spontaneous." She smirks at him, as the door swings shut behind Christa.

Ymir's smirk instantly vanishes, and they descend the tower's spiraling stairs. It is dark beyond and behind the lantern's span of light; their shadows waver on the walls. "We've never fought together, and I doubt we'll be any good at it, but I can't go it alone. Our strength is combined when you ride me."

Christa takes Ymir's hand. "I'm with you."

They stop, and Ymir looks down at her; Christa's eyes glimmer acrylic black in the feeble light beneath her long lashes. "Is that a love confession?"

Ymir can't see Christa's flaming face, but she can sense her body temperature rise. "Now isn't the time for jokes."

Ymir doesn't laugh like she normally would. "You're right. It's not." She pulls Christa closer. "But I want to see you smile one more time."

"I don't understand."

Ymir tucks Christa's hair behind her elf ear and traces the delicate curve. "I don't expect you to." Her hand slides down Christa's face to her chin, cupping her jawbone. Christa arcs her head back. Then Ymir's face is so close that Christa can discern each eyelash and freckle, and her stormy eyes seem to be swirling as chaotically as the storm outside. Ymir's gaze locks on Christa's mouth; Christa's pulse picks up in anticipation as Ymir bends closer and closer. Breath brushes Christa's upper lip. She automatically closes her eyes.

Christa waits. She waits longer. It isn't until she hears footsteps that she realizes Ymir has moved away and is treading the stairs once more. Christa staggers behind, telling herself that she isn't disappointed, that her heart isn't crookedly beating. She had misread the setting and context and Ymir's warmth. Did Christa actually want Ymir to—

Ymir pushes open the door with a screech. Wind rushes in, billowing their skirts and hair, making the lantern's flame shake. Ymir sets it down, paces to the middle of the street, and turns around. Her dress flaps around her legs.

Then a flash of white blinds Christa, she rapidly blinks, and Ymir's dragon emerges. She is long and narrow, her legs short, more serpentine than Eren. And unlike any of the other dragons, Ymir is covered in silky, gray feathers. Dragons were once feathered, Ymir had told Christa, but over time, their feathers were shed for fireproof scales, which came in handy.

Ymir is at a severe disadvantage with her flammable plumes. Ymir said that she is old-fashioned, archaic, without any specialties such as hardened skin, or overly large size, or ice abilities. She is an average dragon, less remarkable than Eren even. But Christa thinks that Ymir is incomparable.

Although Ymir's legs are short, she still has to crouch in order for Christa to reach her back. Christa climbs on and clutches her feathers, careful not to pluck any.

_Watch my tail, _Ymir says. _Tell me if shadow is gaining on us. _

Her wings unfurl with a flurry. They vibrate as she beats them a few times. Then Ymir slithers into the air like a snake. The storm revolves, turning and turning, as if chasing its own tail. Ymir flies straight into the bulk. She sucks in a breath and out comes a strong fountain of fire, forcing the shadows back. Ymir growls, dipping on her right side and accelerating.

Christa leans forward into the onrushing wind, tightening her fingers and squeezing her knees. _Whoosh!_ Flames hiss from Ymir's mouth as she circles tighter and tighter, until the clouds are condensed into a single black form.

Ymir gets too close to the shadows. Christa can feel the superficial burns on Ymir's wings as if they are her own wounds. It is painful. Christa's skin feels like it is bubbling. She strokes Ymir's soft feathers—the burns heal.

_'Do you know who summoned the storm?' _Christa asks.

_No, but the palace's chapel was crawling with shadow. If anyone knows who did, that creep Pastor Nick knows. _

A smoky wisp brushes the surface of Ymir's wing. She groans and shoots out a fireball. It cuts the patch of shadow in half, and Ymir makes a sharp sweep, confining it, keeping the storm in check, steering it from the village.

* * *

Watching Ymir from the Westward tower's window are Reiner and Bertholdt. Reiner grips the window's ledge, sticking his head outside. "That dragon!" He can't believe his eyes. "I thought the originals died out!"

Bertholdt's brows rise with worry. "She shouldn't be out there," he says. "If anything happens to her…"

"She made a choice," Annie breaks in. "She knows the risk."

Reiner turns to Sasha. "You work inside the palace. Did you know Ymir was an Otherworlder?"

"No! I had no idea! I got the feeling she could be scary, though."

"What's so important about her?" asks Connie. "She's got feathers. What's so special about that?"

"She might know how to reopen Otherworld gates," Reiner tells him. "The Otherworlders stuck here could finally go home."

Sasha suddenly bounds to the window. "The storm! It's disappearing!"

Excluding Annie, they all squeeze their heads outside to watch the storm rumple into itself, draining into its center, abating till it is nothing. It is fast, unexpected, and just as unsettling as the storm's manifestation. The sky turns to bleak rising dawn.

* * *

Sunlight peers behind mountaintops, and Ymir arcs around a few times where the storm shriveled up. Her gray feathers sparkle in the emerging daybreak.

Christa scans the horizon, searching for signs of shadow. There aren't any. _'The storm just disappeared. Is that normal?' _

_Nothing about this is normal. _Ymir glides to the ground. Christa can sense her irritation. _Someone's toying with us, and I hate having my strings pulled. _Ymir is the one who does the toying and ploy pulling. The reversal vexes Ymir's patience, and an impatient Ymir is lethal.

The soft pads of Ymir's feet don't make a sound as she gracefully lands in the palace's courtyard. The green grasses flutter beneath the currents mixed under her wings. She folds them and crouches to let Christa dismount. But the instant Christa is safely on the ground, guards rush from the palace directly at Ymir. Chains spin in their hands. One tethers Ymir's mouth—another loops her leg, yanking it out from under her. She is thrown.

Christa tugs one of the guards. "Stop! She's my caretaker!" They aren't listening.

Ymir shifts and the chains drop, but before she can escape, the guards tackle her. They pile on top, mashing her to the ground. Ymir wrestles under their bodies. She is overcome.

"I said _stop!_" Christa jumps on someone's back. She doesn't know whose nor does she care. Elbows thrust at her and miss. Then a guard bucks her off, and Christa's head bangs the yard with enough force that the sky swings like a pendulum.

Ymir snarls and spits a stream of flame. The guards jump back—but one manages to grab her from behind, forcing her back down to the ground. Ymir gets a mouthful of dirt, and she harshly hacks it out. A strip of material is then slipped over her eyes, secured around her head. They chain her hands.

"Ymir!"

Clutching her hair, a guard jerks Ymir to her knees. Ymir is panting, dirt sticks to her face, and her dress is torn. The guard grabs her chin and wrenches her head back; a tendon pokes from Ymir's neck. "Who are you?" he hisses. "Your life depends on your answer."

Christa pushes past him and throws her arms around Ymir. "Don't hurt her. She's Ymir Langner, my caregiver."

The guard hesitates. "Princess," he stammers. "The Langners weren't of Otherworld origin. Whoever this girl is, she isn't a Langner."

Christa's arms loosen at that. "What?"

Ymir says nothing to her, which sends Christa's heart plunging. "What will you do, lock me up?"

"You've committed treason against the king. You've lied and deceived the princess for your own game. The punishment for such serious charges is death."

Christa draws her breath short. "No." She feels tremors throughout Ymir's body—she strongly embraces Ymir and shuts her eyes tightly. "I don't care that you lied. I won't let them hurt you." When she opens her eyes, Ymir isn't crying like Christa thought; she trembles with mute laughter.

"You find death row amusing?" the guard barks.

Ymir smiles darkly. "I find it hilarious." Then Ymir is roughly dragged to her feet, and Christa spills from her lap. Chains pinch Ymir's forearms, boring into her wrists, as she is herded to the palace.

Christa scrambles after her. "Wait!" That slight, dark smile cuts in Ymir's mouth strangely. It is a mystery, a puzzle that Christa can't piece together. Perhaps she will never see the entire picture clearly, but that is okay. Christa knows nothing about Ymir, and she may never know anything more than she knows now, but Ymir is her dragon; Christa is her rider. Nothing will keep them apart, not even lies and deception and betrayal. Christa won't let her go. They can't take Ymir away from her. She is all that Christa has.

* * *

Another ash flake falls from Eren's pallid face. Mikasa gently wipes it away. "How long were you in the Shadow Realm?"

"Why do you keep asking that question?" mutters Levi. Eren is breathing but it is hard for him, and shadow ichor thrives in his veins, coursing dark paths within him. More sores in his flesh burst.

"When mystics are young, they assimilate darkness or light." Mikasa frowns. "And you assimilated darkness. You're not a mystic. You're a shade." The will-o'-the-wisps tremble and evaporate as if they have been frightened by what Mikasa said. "But you didn't know what you were, so I think this whole time you've been rejecting both shadow _and_ light. You've been living like a normal person, but a normal person can't kill dragons the way you do."

Mikasa lets that hang for a moment. "You're the best dragon hunter that this world knows because that's what shades are good at. They smother light."

"So what you're saying is that I've been killing dragons because I'm supposed to." Levi doesn't kill dragons for the sake of killing dragons. He kills them to protect villages and kingdoms, to protect life. He doesn't want shadow to spread, and he doesn't want light to be smothered. She's wrong. She has to be.

"That time you scratched Eren's neck, you didn't just scratch him. You burned him, too."

The first time Levi had ridden Eren, his scales singed under Levi's fingernails. Why hadn't Levi questioned that? He knew dragons couldn't burn, so why didn't he find it peculiar? He hadn't spent a single second wondering why or how. Does that mean the other night, when Levi touched Eren and their skin sizzled, Levi burnt Eren? Is that what happened?

Levi doesn't want to be holding Eren anymore. He wants Eren out of his lap. He starts to push Eren over to Mikasa. She stops him. "But the will-o'-the-wisps wouldn't have come if there wasn't something good in you." Mikasa threads her fingers in Eren's blood-clumped hair. "So either Eren has unusually sharp senses, or he's just an idiot."

Levi places his bets on the latter.

"I can't save him," Mikasa says. "I would destroy myself by trying." She locks eyes with Levi. "But you can."

Levi doesn't know what he is doing or how he can save Eren, but his hand hovers over Eren's neck, above the arrow incision like it knows precisely what to do. Nothing happens. Levi feels nothing except Eren's breathing patterns, the expansion and collapse of his ribcage. Then threads of black pull out of the opening. They draw to the center of Levi's palm, sucked inside, disappearing within him. It feels like pure energy is pumping through Levi's arm. It tingles.

The shadow ichor extracts from Eren's veins until none is left, and his blood runs red instead of black. Levi closes his hand, looking across the infested spring. The dark clouds swirl to the bank and creep along the white sand, prowling through the grains, to Levi. They snake his arms and legs, moving up his body to his chest. Shadow enters him like an ice stake, and he inhales with a jerk.

The spring is restored to its crystal blue color with the softest glow that illuminates Eren's face. The burns that disfigure him look less and less severe as he slowly recovers.

"How do you feel, Captain?" asks Mikasa.

Shadow teems inside Levi, swarming, humming, and it feels _good—_unbelievably good like he has been reborn and renewed. He feels strong, alive, _invigorated_. He hates it. He abhors it. He wants more. The shadows that the forest casts quiver, coming for Levi, feeling for him, and Levi beckons them closer—

_No. _He shuts down. He represses it, rejects it. But it is like holding his breath as his lungs burn for air. He goes lightheaded and gnashes his teeth. He _won't_ let it in. But his lungs are aching, and the pain is excruciating. People can't hold their breaths forever; their bodies will take over, resulting in an involuntarily gasp. Levi feels like his body will soon accept shadow against his willpower. It is only a matter of time. He won't have a choice. But he will fight for as long as he can. He will hold his breath until he is blue.

Now that Levi has learned how vulnerable Eren is to him, he is overly cautious. He holds Eren gingerly like he is made of fine glass. "Let's get back." Hauling into a stand, Levi makes his way out of the clearing, with Eren unconscious in his arms.

Mikasa falls in his step. "You don't want to harm Eren, and I'm aware of that, but your intentions don't matter. When it comes down to it, you won't be able to keep from hurting him, and Eren isn't the kind of person who will hold that against you. Hurt him once, twice, or a hundred, he won't learn."

Levi carries Eren away from his body, bracing his full weight in his arms only, like Eren couldn't weigh more than a pin. "Agreeing to be his rider was a mistake." From the beginning, Levi should have trusted his gut feeling. He knew becoming dragon rider was the wrong choice, but against his better judgment he gave in to Eren. It was that determined look in Eren's eyes, the look that Levi thought he could believe in.

And the idiot sleeps with a peaceful expression, like he doesn't have a care in the world, like he is dreaming something pleasant. And Levi wonders what choice he would make if he were asked a second time. Would Levi refuse to be Eren's rider? Or would he make the wrong choice all over again?

"At one time, I would've agreed with you." Mikasa's muffler hides her face. "But I don't know anymore."

* * *

Recap:

I'll do a recap every once in a while, since this story is a little complex and I don't know if I illustrate everything in an easy-to-understand fashion.

Marco is trapped in the Shadow Realm. Technically, he could find his way out but that's virtually impossible. You can't get out of the Shadow Realm unless you know how to navigate through shadow, and so far Levi is the only person who knows how to do that. Levi is a shade, so he instinctively knows how to deal with everything involving shadow.

Basically, Levi is Mikasa's shadow counterpart, or Mikasa is Levi's light counterpart. Whichever way you wanna think about it works. Levi is a shade, but he was able to call will-o'-the-wisps in a dire situation, meaning that _what_ he is doesn't necessarily affect _who_ he is.

The Shadowstone is connected to shades and shadows. Destroy the stone and something might happen to them.

Ymir's false identity has been exposed. Christa doesn't know what to think, but she will protect Ymir unconditionally.

Somebody summoned the shadow storm. Plus, somebody else was inside of it and successfully injured Eren.


	11. No Matter What

I didn't proofread this chapter and it's totally rushed. There will be mistakes aplenty. Sorry about that! I've got an essay I gotta get to. Drop a review if you'd like.

* * *

After hearing sketchy word about another shifter being captured, one that has been hiding in plain sight right under their noses, Erwin is in no leisure to the king's throne room—he is speed-walking, more than curious of who this shifter is. The halls are blazing with daylight, streams of it streaking through the windows, pulled of their drapes. It would seem the threat of shadow was never a threat at all.

Erwin shudders as a wave of cold air ghosts the nape of his neck. Perhaps the thought was premature. "Erwin" is muttered just behind him; taken off guard, Erwin flinches, spinning around.

Unarmed, Levi is wearing a simple button-down and slacks. His neck is swathed in sheer, off-white bandaging, where Eren "dug in his damn sharp fangs"—Levi's phrasing, not Erwin's. Erwin can't place his finger on it exactly, but there is something notably different about Levi. The sleepless circles that are usually set beneath his eyes are less prominent, and his eyes are brighter than Erwin remembers—however still colorless, not blue, not gray, like his irises have been carved of ice.

"You're stealthier than shadow," Erwin says in humor.

Levi raises a brow ever so slightly. "Interesting word choice."

Erwin's smile tightens, and he falls silent as he begins to grasp the source of Levi's faintly altered presence. He aligns his shoulders higher. "You've recognized your true nature."

"Did you know from the start?" Levi clicks his tongue. "No, that makes no difference to me. I think the better question is why did you let me live in ignorance?" Levi's expression quickly darkens, his eyes seem to glow brighter, and his voice grows quieter with venom. "Was it entertaining for you?"

"Of course not. I kept you in the dark for your own good." Erwin silently chides himself for his repeated tactless word choices.

"You don't need to lie to me. I know the kind of person you are." Levi's stare is as cold as it was the first time they met in the shadow realm. "You were keeping me in check. It'd be problematic to have a rogue shade roaming around." Erwin doesn't deny that claim because it is true. "Keep any threats under control, that's what you were thinking, right?" Levi brushes past him. "I suppose I can go along with that principle. I don't think it's wrong."

* * *

Darkness inside darkness. Coldness licks Eren's back, and he smells a vile scent, one of spilled blood and malevolence. A sinister hand grabs Eren's shoulder. Eren's eyes fly open, and he whirls, teeth showing, viciously snarling.

Colorless eyes slit, then there is the familiar scent of silver birch and soap. Horrified at himself, Eren gasps. "S-Sorry! I didn't mean—I wasn't going to—"

Cautiously, Levi backs up into the chair that he is sitting in, with a hand held in an at-ease gesture. "It's not your fault. It's natural for you to have that reaction."

"No, I…" What does that even mean? The only "natural" reaction Eren should have is utmost gratitude. The hand that Eren had almost bitten, he lightly grasps and brings closer, lowering his head in an indebted bow. His lips insubstantially ghost Levi's knuckles; their skin doesn't touch, or possibly it does. "You saved my life. Thank you." Levi's hand lacks heat, like he doesn't have blood coursing his veins. Eren's flesh crawls, and he has to repress the inexplicable urge to smack Levi's hand aside. Ignoring his repulsion, Eren holds Levi's corpselike fingers more firmly.

Head still bowed, Eren glimpses at Levi through his hair, and Levi keeps his hand slack, closely watching Eren as if expecting him to spontaneously burst afire.

"How are you feeling?" asks Levi.

"Weak and a bit sore," Eren admits. He takes in his surroundings and notices for the first time that he is in one of the king's special guest rooms, which Eren knows are at the highest floors of the palace. The room is furnished elegantly, and velvet drapes hang on the bed's mahogany canopy. The bed is big enough that, even while spread, Eren's arms do not cover the width. "How long have I been out?"

"About a day."

Eren's head feels hazy, like his skull is stuffed with cotton-balls. "What happened to the storm?"

Levi pulls his hand back to himself, folding his arms over his chest. "It vanished."

"You make it sound like that's a bad thing."

"I'm not certain myself, but my guess is the person who summoned the storm finished out their goal." Levi's soapy scent is faint, overpowered by the smell of rotten flesh; Eren surreptitiously covers his nose by capping his chin. "The kingdom is largely intact. There was only one person lost. However, you were severely injured, which leads me to believe that you were the target."

"Me? Why?"

"I don't know."

White material hints from beneath the collar of Levi's shirt. Eren pinches his shirt-collar and winces. Levi's neck is medically dressed. "Did I do that?" The memories after being shot are unclear, but he vaguely recalls condemning Levi for the unbearable agony Eren felt.

"You resented me so much that you tried to bite my head off."

"I wasn't thinking straight." He picks at the bandages, having to sprawl on the wide mattress.

Levi ducks out of his reach. "It's fine."

"Let me see it."

"It's fine," Levi repeats in a way that suggests Eren should drop the matter; Eren doesn't.

"You're hiding something from me." Something big, too. Levi's whole body is tensed. Eren searches his closed, unreadable face, leaning close. "Why? You said I could trust you. And I do. With my life."

Cheek turned, Levi's droopy eyes lid till they are almost closed. He is frowning like usual, but not his standard frown. It is abject and something else, and Eren doesn't want him to look like that. Then Levi tilts his head to the side and unravels the bandages from his neck.

Eren starts. "You're skin, it's breaking like glass." He reaches out as if he is going to touch the fissures spanning Levi's neck. He doesn't. "That's not normal." A moment of déja vu hits Eren. The sight of the cracks in Levi's skin strikes a chord. Eren feels like he is dreaming, stuck in his own head, as childhood memories spool through his mind. This has happened once before. Eren has already seen injuries of an identical sort. "You're the same as Mikasa."

Levi reclines in the seat. "I'm not."

Eren thinks about that and realizes Levi is right: he isn't at all like Mikasa. Eren senses something entirely different emanating from Levi. The foul scent and heatless skin. His power buzzes and thrums like Mikasa's power, but it is very, very cold. Eren's hair stands up, and his teeth elongate, cutting into his lip. On instinct Eren draws himself away from Levi, flattening to the wall. He swallows the growl rising in his throat. "If you're not a mystic, what are you?" Levi looks at him, with that abject frown.

"He's what's called a shade," says Erwin, entering the room. "Which is the shadow counterpart of a mystic."

Eren doesn't break his eyes from Levi. "A shade?"

"You shouldn't have chosen me."

"You might not be like Mikasa, but you sound an awful lot like her."

Levi doesn't say anything to that. Erwin steps beside him. "Levi, let me speak with Eren in private." Without objection, Levi does as Erwin wants, disregarding Eren's unhappy looks, and leaves the room, closing the door on his way out. Erwin adopts Levi's seat.

He sits with his elbows on his knees, hands folded in front of his mouth. He doesn't ease into raw subjects, tackling them without hesitancy. "The kind of creature that Levi is thrives in darkness, while your kind avoids it. I never considered for an instant that you would choose him to be your rider. By the laws of your nature, it is self-contradictory."

Erwin goes on, "But Levi is also contradictory to his nature. From the start I could see that he was abnormal."

"Abnormal…" Eren tugs the sheets higher on his legs.

"I asked you once before if you were afraid of the dark. You didn't give me an answer. But now that you know the truth about Levi," Erwin fixedly gauges Eren, "do you fear him?"

Eren returns to his past memories. Eren's kid self would hide, wake up crying from nightmares, and dread dusk because that would mean nightfall was right around the corner. Night was Eren's greatest fear because he was vulnerable without his eyesight. "When I was a kid, I was deathly afraid of dark places. I never wanted to be alone during the night, but my mom taught me to brave. She told me to hone my senses on something else." His mother had taught him a trick. Since the night would take away Eren's sight, his strongest and most reliable sense, Eren's mother suggested that he focused on his hearing instead.

"She had this little music box she would play for me every night, and every night I would concentrate on its sound. After a while, I forgot to be afraid." Eren isn't afraid of Levi, he never was. "I chose Captain Levi because it felt right." The first time that Eren saw Levi, the day that Eren sat beside him on the beach, Eren thought that he should be afraid, but he wasn't. S_omething tells me your different, _Eren had said. _If it's flying that you want, I can lend you my wings._ "I guess that I also could see that Captain Levi was different from the start. I knew he was a good person."

* * *

"Who are you? ...Who are you? …are you?" Their voices echo in the dungeon like they are substantial, confining Ymir. Blindfolded and on her knees, Ymir is at the mercy of the guards, her hands chained behind her back. Christa is nearby. The air currents catch her soothing lavender scent. As much as she can, Ymir breathes it in.

"Speak up, Otherworlder!"

Ymir obstinately holds her tongue. They can chain her up, beat her too, but she will _not_ give them the answer they want. Ymir hears a belt of leather uncoil on the floor.

"No!" Christa stands her ground at Ymir's back like a protector. "You will _not_ hurt her." Ymir has never heard Christa sound so fierce before.

"Move aside, Princess."

"No."

"Get her out of the way."

Ymir hears Christa be shuffled to the side of the room. Then the whip slides on the floor. Taking a breath, Ymir sets her jaw and stiffens her back. _Thwack!_ The whip slashes Ymir, and a shrill cry rings out—but not from her. Christa crumbles to her knees, whimpering.

"You idiot!" snarls Ymir. "She's my rider!"

"Princess!" The guard holding the whip runs to her. They peel back the top of her dress, over her shoulders. A bright red lash crisscrosses her skin. "What the hell is this?"

"Like I said, you imbecile, she's my rider. Hurt me, and you hurt her too."

"How crafty, using our princess for a shield. Have you no shame?"

"I play my moves flawlessly." Ymir keeps her voice aloof and flat. "Everything I do is carefully measured."

Christa snivels. "Is everything a game to you?"

"I don't do anything unless it benefits me. That's the kind of person I am."

"But I thought we…"

"Were friends?" Ymir twitches the corner of her mouth upwards. "You were so desperate for love that you trusted me without even questioning my intent." Ymir hears Christa gasp like she has been kicked in the stomach.

"No, you're just saying that. You're pushing me away because I was hurt."

Ymir makes an indistinct growl. "You're hopeless. Open your eyes, Princess, and see me for the despicable person that I am."

Christa's strides are stiff, as she pads up to Ymir. Her forefinger slides under the blindfold, and she rips it off. "I see you, Ymir." Then Christa drops to her knees. There is a flash of hand, and Ymir expects the sting of a hot slap. What Ymir gets, however, is a tender caress on her cheekbone and tear-blue eyes filling her gaze.

Ymir stiffens at that out-of-place, tender look. "What—"

It takes what seems like a full day's passing for her to realize that Christa is kissing her. And even after she realizes, Ymir thinks that she might be in the twilight zone because surely this isn't real. Why would Christa look at her so kindly? Why would Christa _kiss_ her after the horrible things Ymir said? Christa uses both hands to hold Ymir's face, firmly setting their lips together, making Ymir inhale in surprise. Christa is warm and soft and much too good for Ymir. And Ymir feels a painful twinge in her chest.

Christa smiles, and Ymir wonders what she ever did to deserve that smile. "I see you, and I know that you say horrible things and pretend to be a despicable person. But you're a kind person; I know it. You chose me to be your rider, so no matter what, I'm always on your side."

Ymir feels boneless. She hunches closer, weakly putting her forehead on Christa's collar in a vulnerable display that, on normal circumstances, would make her nauseated. Christa winds her arms around Ymir's shoulders in an embrace; Ymir's breath is shaky. "Princess…"

Christa looks at the guards. "Undo her bonds, please. Until there's a proper trial, she'll stay with me, okay?"

"As you wish, Princess."

* * *

Later in the day, Eren receives another and unexpected visitor: Petra. She is suited up in her hunter gear and sitting in the chair beside the bed.

"You gave us a scare. When we saw the captain carrying you like a corpse, we assumed the worst." She takes his hand. "I felt sorry that we overburdened you. We placed too much on your shoulders, and you were hurt because of that."

"What, no!" Eren squeezes her hand earnestly. "I wanted to fight for you guys. It was my choice."

"Of course." She smiles and swings their hands in a playful, motherly way. "But we consider you family. Depend on us a little."

Eren gets a bit choked up. He holds Petra's hand in both of his. "Okay." Then the door opens.

"Captain." Petra's hand slips from Eren's, and she rises, offering Levi a salute. His eyes dart to the side as if on reflex.

"The others are waiting for you in the mess hall," he says.

"Yes, sir." She passes him—

"Petra." She reels to a halt. "Have you reconsidered your place here?" Levi doesn't look at her. Suddenly appearing tired, he is facing Eren, avoiding Petra, and Eren thinks it is strange.

"What?" Petra sounds hurt. "After all this time, you still ask that question even though my answer has never changed." She sighs, staring at her own two feet. "It makes me think that you don't want me here."

At last Levi meets Petra's eyes but reservedly. "I admire your devotion, but haven't you considered returning home?"

Nervously Petra picks lint from her uniform, and Eren hears her quickening heartbeat. "I've thought about it, but my place is here with the squadron. I would miss Eren and…" She doesn't finish the thought and salutes him again. "Captain." Quickly she retreats out the door with stooped shoulders.

"What was that about? You were pretty cold," Eren says. "I think you hurt her feelings."

"It was unintentional." Levi sits down in the chair, tossing a leg over his knee, arms crossing. "I came to tell you that I can't be with you for the rest of the day, so the king has instructed you be restrained." Eren slumps unhappily, and Levi says, "It's an order that we have to observe."

"Right, I understand."

The mattress dips as Levi sits on the edge. "Really? Because I don't." Levi takes Eren's wrist, making a ring around it with his fingers. "These wrists are so lean they could slip right out of any cuff." Eren doesn't know why his face gets hot at that. Then Levi thinks about what he has said and adds, "They're also breakable. I did a number on them without meaning to."

"Oh, yeah." Eren doesn't mention how badly that hurt. "It's okay. I was…out of control." He switches the positions of their hands, so that Eren is the one ringing Levi's wrist. "Your wrists are smaller, you know." But much stronger, pale and knobby. Eren touches the base of Levi's wrist with his thumb. "No matter what, I'll never regret my choice. It doesn't matter to me what you are. You're my dragon rider."

* * *

Entry: The Originals

The original Otherworld bloodline began with one family blessed with a power unique and strange. They were a blend of each realm: human, shadow, and Otherworld. They would rule the Otherworld for centuries. It is rumored that this family had the ability to manipulate the realms on a whim.

On the knowledge that humans threatened their realm, in order to protect their people, the originals compressed their power into a single stone, otherwise known as the Otherstone; thus, creating a barrier that would secede the Otherworld into its own independent state.

* * *

Minutes? Hours? How long as Eren been chained to this bed? And when will Levi be back? The king's guard didn't move him from this guest room that is at the highest point in the palace. They kept him blindfolded, lying on a lush bed, and arms chained low to the wall. It is better than the dungeon, sure, but it doesn't lessen Eren's feeling of neglect. Will humanity ever trust him? How can he earn their trust?

Eren tries removing the blindfold but can't reach. His chains are too short, so he lies in blindness, soft blankets enfolding him, softer pillows cradling him. But that doesn't matter. In a cold hard dungeon or on a lavish bed, being shackled is the worst.

It is silent; no one has entered through the door, but Eren senses another presence materialize. A rotten scent permeates the room; Eren's teeth pierce his gums, and his hair prickles. "Captain? I thought you weren't gonna be back for a while." Eren forces himself to concentrate on something besides Levi's new power and revolting scent. Straining his ears, Eren listens for Levi's one and only heartbeat. _Thump-thump. Thump-thump. _This heartbeat is too fast.

Eren jerks in his chains and lets the growl in his throat free. "You're not Captain Levi."

This person ruffles Eren's hair. "Sorry, kiddo. Didn't mean to disappoint."

This man, who comes off like Levi but doesn't have Levi's heartbeat, takes Eren's chin and moves his head back and forth. "You're healing up well. Took that runt long enough to puzzle it out. Thought I had killed ya—and that wouldn't've been good."

"You're the guy that shot me!"

"If I had a shilling for every time I heard that one."

"Who are you?"

"Me? I'm nobody worth mentioning—but you, Eren Jaeger, are the real gem." Eren hears this guy twirl the chair and sit in it. "The son of Grisha Jaeger. Never knew the man, but he's got a reputation going for him. Now we're all waiting to see what you'll do." An ice-cold fingertip touches the hollow of Eren's throat, creeping higher like a knife, goading instinctive, defensive rumbles in Eren's chest. "Your fire-breathing wasn't anything special. It was outright pathetic." Eren winces as the coldness seeps deep in his skin. It is so cold that it scalds. "It's high time your true power awakened. Mister king is gettin' antsy."

_BOOM! _

An eruption comes from outside, muffled by distance—the sound of crumbling and splintering wood. "Oh," the man hums. "That's my cue." He pushes out of his chair. "You might wanna get yourself out of those chains. I would help, but there's a rat problem I've gotta take care of." A pause. "Well, one rat. A very small rat." Then he disappears without leaving a single trace of his visit whatsoever.

Eren hears _her _roar: the female dragon. She will destroy the kingdom if Eren doesn't stop her! Eren slams against his chains. They go taut and rattle. He wars with the iron, battles with the chain-links. Chains. It's always chains! His wrists become slick and hot, chafed to naught, but he has been through this. He knows the drill. He hurls all his strength against the metal, jerking, flailing. The bed rocks and lurches, its wood posts splintering under Eren's violent thrashing. Pain triggers tears in his eyes as his flesh pulls too far and rips.

"Come _on!_" Breathing fast, Eren takes a split second to recuperate. Then he clenches his teeth and twists with all his might. Bones in his right hand crunch—he pulls and pulls and pulls, spine arching off the bed, feet fumbling down the mattress, muscles stretching, straining, ripping. Blood makes his hands slippery; the metal squeezes around the palm of his broken hand—it practically folds in half and slips free, purple and misshapen.

Within a few seconds, the bones in his hand repair, and he pulls off his blindfold. Concentrating, he uses Annie's diaphragm-breathing technique to whisper a thin trickle of fire that melts the iron of his other shackle. Then he shoots to the window, looking out. From this distance he can't see the female dragon, but he can hear her destructive path—houses crushed, villagers screaming, and fire seething. The hunters are attacking her. He can hear them fending her off. He has to get to them! Jumping out the window, Eren shifts—

The shift fails. Now he is nose-diving toward earth, human and flightless. _Shift, dammit! _His body doesn't obey his command—and in the moments that it takes him to reach the ground, he knows that he is in for some serious pain. His face breaks his fall, and it feels like every bone in his body has shattered. He lays there in a pain induced daze.

"Gunther!" Petra's screech jolts him wide-awake.

Eren struggles to his feet, wiping blood from his nose. Then he races across the courtyard, out the gates, and into the village. Eren doesn't have natural directional insight like Levi. He hears the female dragon but doesn't know if she is coming from his left or his right, how deep into town or shallow. He turns side to side, searching in a panic. He needs a vantage point.

There is a line of shops, and Eren dashes to the side of the baker's market. The smell of sweet bread would usually make him halt in his tracks but not this time. Eren roots his nails into wooden cracks and climbs the wall. He hooks his leg over the lip of the roof, toes curled like fingers, hauling himself on top. He steadies his balance, his arms spread like a tightrope walker. Then he sees _her._

Towering over the houses in all her beastly glory, the female dragon spouts ceaseless fire. And Eren runs. He picks up speed. Faster. Faster. He sprints down the middle of the rooftop, his legs driving, bare feet slapping. He reaches a gap between shops—he hurtles to the other side, soaring through the air. He lands. Then he keeps running, racing over shingles, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, pushing his arms and legs faster, faster, _FASTER!_

The line of rooftops ends—and he jumps. On all fours, he impacts the ground with a thud. His knee pops; his shin explodes. He scrambles to his feet, stumbling, limping. _Come on! Run!_ His gimpy leg falls behind him, numb, useless. But he runs—he runs the fracture right out of his shin.

His feet fly. He passes house after house, blowing them by. Down a forked street, he makes a sharp turn. _Too sharp._ Losing balance, he catches the ground, then scrambles, then runs and runs.

His heart pounds; his breath is short; he gasps. And all he can think about is Petra. She had said that Eren could be a part of their group, that he could be a part of their family, that he could depend on them. They can depend on him too. He will fight for them with his life. He can protect them. He can save them! He can—

He turns the final corner. Fire blasts the air like he has been caught in an oven. His clothes singe on his body, embers burning holes in the cloth. The hunters, where are the hunters? Another blast of heat bathes Eren, and he stands there watching, unable to stop watching, unable to move or do a thing to help. The whites of Petra's eyes are shocking against the orange glow, and her shrill, unending scream rings like a siren long after she gives up. The fire stream dies, and an outline of Petra and Oluo are left on the houses behind them like shadows. Their bodies are splintered skeleton and powder.

Something inside Eren snaps out of place, like the threads of his sanity have been severed. He clobbers the female, shifted into his dragon, reckless with rage and pain and remorse. He snarls, lips curled, talons rapping across her chest. Scales wipe away. Blood sprays. He has her pinned.

Opening his jaws rigid, he snaps down with his every fiber of strength on her neck. His teeth connect with her skin—and his own teeth shatter. Her skin is hardened with an impenetrable coating of ice. His jaw breaks; the bottom half hangs loose, open wide; his long tongue freely dangles. Blood pours from his gums and out his mouth, trailing down the length of his neck. He draws his head back, _roaring_ to the sky, spewing blood like rain.

Eren feels like he is burning, not with shadow ichor, but with something strong and venomous swelling within himself, swelling and swelling his veins to a rupture point. It rushes up his throat in sparks. And he screams fire at the female shifter beneath him. But dragons are fireproof. Eren's flames lick over her face like a breeze. Eren will kill her—_NO!_ He will _scorch_ her alive like she did to the hunters. He will turn her to ash!

His fuming roar is a cry of vengeance. His entire stomach fuels with air, kindling sparks in his throat again—and he unleashes another outpour of merciless wrath.

* * *

Hanji is convinced Pastor Nick knows more than he is letting on. Therefore, she and Levi pay him a visit in the chapel, and when they arrive, he is already waiting. Hanji takes the bull by the horns, charging into the root of evil. "What do you know?" she demands. "You owe us an explanation."

Pastor Nick is unmoved. "I owe you nothing."

"Who summoned the storm?"

"I can't tell you that."

Shadows in the corners of the chapel pulsate, and Levi folds his arms over his chest. "And why the hell not?"

"I've been protecting this kingdom from war for as long as I can remember, and I'm not about to spoil it now."

"War," mutters Levi, "is fought with equal chances for victory on both sides. What you're creating here is a one-sided massacre."

"Are humans using shadow storms to create a genocide targeting Otherworlders?" Hanji demands. "Is that what they're plotting?"

"No, the reverse. Oppressed Otherworlders are plotting the destruction of humanity. One Otherworld race in particular is behind the conspiracy."

"Which race?"

Pastor Nick shakes his head. "I've already said too much, I can't—"

Roughly snatching Pastor Nick's collar, Hanji rasps in his face, bullying him into complying. "Come out with it, already!"

Pastor Nick stammers a bit, dragging his fingers down Hanji's hands. "Elves are the reason for the shadow storm."

Hanji sets him loose. "Elves? Why would they do that?"

But the question remains unanswered. Levi feels eyes watching him and bristles. He reaches for his dagger, wheeling around, raising it. The blade hisses against another blade, then Levi sees a glimmer of teeth. A tall man wearing a distinguishable black hat pulled low over his deep-set eyes grins; it is a feral grin. "Nice reflexes."

Levi's teeth snap together, and he growls. "Kenny!"

The brim of Kenny's hat casts a shadow over his face. "It's been a while, Levi." Forcing Levi on his heels, Kenny's grin in his short-trim beard grows wider.

"Not really." Levi's arms shake as he struggles to keep Kenny locked. "You were inside the storm."

"Your senses sure haven't gotten dull. You almost shot me back there!" Kenny gives a powerful shove, breaking their stalemate. Then he takes a step back, measuring up Levi. "You're all grown up, but it's hard to tell—you're so tiny." The outer corners of Kenny's eyes have gained a series of wrinkles with age. He wipes his thumb beneath his nose. "Carrying you around must be a cakewalk for Eren."

At the mention of Eren's name, Levi adjusts the dagger in his hand, spinning it fast so the edges blur. The dagger sits in his hold the wrong way, the point of the blade pointing downward. Kenny eyeballs it. "I see you've kept my dagger in good shape. I'm surprised you didn't throw it out."

"It's served me well."

That makes Kenny burst into laughter. "That's good!" Kenny draws another sword. His swords are roughly the length of his arms and strangely translucent. Levi can see through the blades like they were cut from frosted, manipulated glass. Kenny tilts one. "Like them? They're enchanted."

"For what purpose?"

"You're about to find out."

"Hanji." Levi tenses, never tearing his eyes from Kenny. "This guy isn't here for me. It's Eren."

"Eren?"

"What about that wasn't clear?"

Hanji bolts to the door, dragging Pastor Nick with her, and Kenny sweeps his arm. A wave of black flame cuts them short. They skid, and Kenny strikes his strange, clear sword at Hanji—Levi jumps between them, parrying the blow. "Hurry up and find Eren!" He rolls to the side. Kenny follows.

Catching him in a crouch, Kenny's sword comes down on Levi's head. Levi lifts his dagger, and Kenny's blade sheers off with sparks. Kenny slashes his other sword; Levi jumps back. He feels a tug on his shirt—the point of Kenny's blade has sliced above his chest, just missing flesh.

"Levi!" Hanji cries.

"You're still here, shitty glasses?" Levi escapes another close call—Kenny's sword whizzes by his ear. He ducks, then out of his peripheral, Levi sees Hanji and Pastor Nick successfully make it out of the chapel; Kenny uses the momentary sidetracked focus to kick Levi's abdomen, sending him stumbling.

His back hits a pew, knocking him breathless. Using the bench as footing, Levi bounds over the seat and hooks his fingers under the seat's ridge, hurling the entire pew at Kenny. It flips in the air a few times, smacking Kenny's chest. Wood chips and splinters fly, as Kenny hacks through it with his frosty, transparent swords.

"You goddamn brat!" Kenny rages. Shadows condense around him, rustling his hair under his hat. Laying his arms to the side, Kenny calls the shadows forth; black wisps coil him like snakes and his chest sponges them up. "You're not naïve, Levi. I don't believe for a second that you never knew what you were. Deep down you've always known."

The shadows. Levi needs to get rid of them. They are Kenny's power source. He runs to the curtains that block the sunlight from shining through the windows. His hand extends for the red drapes—a black wave shoots up in front of him.

"What is it that you say? Something like…you hate pointless pain and death." Kenny slices Levi's arm that had been reaching for the curtains. His skin cracks like ceramic, and a strand of black smoke flows out of the shallow cut. Levi's arm goes numb like he is losing blood, and the black smoke leaking out of him surrounds Kenny's sword. The blade soaks up the shadow essence, filling the see-through center, absorbing Levi's strength.

Kenny holds up his shadow-filled blade. "How does it feel to know that you thrive on exactly what you claim to hate?"

Levi grips his arm, holding back his oozing shadow blood. Kenny is trying to hit a nerve, Levi knows this, and he is getting closer and closer to reaching a very raw spot. Every principle and foundation that make up the person Levi thought he was is crumbling right under his feet. Levi doesn't know who he is anymore—but that isn't important right now. Levi has to protect Eren: that is his duty. Right now Levi is dragon rider, nothing more and nothing less. He glances at his rider's mark to remind himself that Eren chose him for a reason. Maybe Eren knows something that Levi doesn't. So in this, Levi will trust Eren's judgment.

"Stop saying pointless things."

Levi whips his dagger, and Kenny throws his big hands in front of him—shadows flock around Levi, encircling, closing him in, creating a whirlwind. They slam into Levi, and he goes flying into a wall. He sees stars. Shaking out of his stupor, Levi tries to move but is held in place by black fire spiraling his legs and arms, twining higher and higher, working to his chest. He shrinks into the wall. Shadows claw at him, and Levi breathes heavily. They seep under his clothes. He can feel them like freezing ice-fingers on his bare skin. And he wants let it in. He wants to breathe.

"You can't fight it, or it'll consume you." Kenny squats in front of him. "Trust me, kid. Your pain is unnecessary." Levi grits his jaw and fights the impulse to surrender. He aches all over. The very marrow in his bones seems to be aching. Kenny reaches out, his hand held flat, moving towards Levi's chest. Levi's breathing is faster—

The chapel shakes with a massive roar like an earthquake. It is a very familiar roar and followed by another thunderous cry. Kenny retracts. "Ah, someone's upset." Smiling like metal, he tips his hat in adieu. "I'm done here." Then a dark opening emerges behind Kenny like a door. Taking a step backwards, he disappears inside, vanishing into thin air.

* * *

If you don't know who Kenny's character is he's a pretty cool guy. Kenny the Ripper.


End file.
